Dementors
by Myranya
Summary: Hermione is sent to Azkaban for using the Killing Curse. Can she survive the Dementors?
1. The Killing Curse

Summary: Hermione is sent to Azkaban for using the Killing Curse. Can she survive the Dementors? 

Rating: PG.

Category: Angst

Disclaimer: No, it doesn't belong to me. 

Anything spoken telepathically is in single 's. I know often cursive is used for thoughts but some sites where I post this strip such formatting, and there'll be a lot of it. 

**1. The Killing Curse**

Hermione crossed the campus of the Wizard University in Leeds. It was late and she walked quickly. She never felt completely safe, even here on the campus, it wasn't like Hogwarts. There she'd never felt this uneasy, even when the Basilisk had been hunting the castle or when that horrible woman, Umbridge, had been in charge. Even then, Hogwarts, or at least the Gryffindor tower, had felt like home. Fortunately, this was her last year and once she graduated, she'd join Harry, Ron, many of her old friends in Romania. 

For the longest time, it had been assumed Harry and Ron would become Aurors. They'd worked hard to make the qualifications, and all had seemed well during their sixth and seventh year when Fudge finally had to admit Voldemort had returned. But then, at the end of their seventh year Harry had faced Voldemort again and had hit him with the Killing Curse. Voldemort had vanished in a shower of green sparks, not leaving a body behind. Those who'd watched had cheered, believing You-Know-Who to be dead, yet Harry's scar had stung. He'd been convinced Voldemort wasn't quite dead yet. 

Over the next weeks, Harry had felt his scar whenever he let his guard down. He'd even tried to stop blocking his mind completely, and while he hadn't felt or seen as much as he had years earlier –Voldemort likely did his best to prevent Harry from reading his mind after Harry had finally learned Occlumency and Legilimency- Harry had been certain Voldemort was still alive. 

Yet no one but Dumbledore and their closest friends from the Order would believe him. Instead of learning from their earlier mistakes, the Minister had once again denied Voldemort's existence, all too happy to celebrate a great victory. And to Hermione's dismay, most of the wizards had been just as happy to swallow the information the Ministry fed them as they had been two years earlier. Not unlike their fifth year, the newspapers discredited Harry's story and Professor Dumbledore, and after their graduation none of her friends had any desire to work for Fudge and his lackeys. 

Unlike the previous time, Voldemort had not launched any major attacks, and the more time passed since the 'final battle', the more people were convinced he was truly dead. Hermione knew better. She'd heard of secret meetings from Professor Snape and other spies, Harry had dreamed flashes of secret killings and torture sessions. But as long as the Ministry refused to believe them, it was in Voldemort's advantage to quietly gain power and followers until he had amassed enough power to be ensured victory. 

Dumbledore still ran Hogwarts, but the Ministry was extremely displeased with the Headmaster and his actions. Rabble-rousers and troublemakers were some of the nicer things Fudge had called the Headmaster, his staff and her friends. The Minister insisted the rise in the numbers of Death Eater attacks was a direct reaction to them spreading the rumor that Voldemort was still alive. According to Fudge, if no one were stupid enough to believe it the Death Eaters surely would not have remained active, 'hoping for their Lord to return again.' Instead of taking it as proof, or at least a strong indication, their information was correct, he put the blame for his problems on them! Remembering how hard it had been last time, discredited by the Ministry and the Daily Prophet, her friends had left the country, joining Charlie Weasley in Romania for further training in Defense. When the time came there would be people prepared to fight, in spite of Fudge and the Ministry of Magic.

Hermione had considered joining them, but had chosen to continue her studies instead. Knowledge would always be important, especially Charms and Potions. There would be much she could do in both fields when Voldemort attacked. Something she was certain would happen again eventually.

Suddenly she heard something from between two buildings. She grabbed her wand, wishing she hadn't stayed in the library this late. Or that she could Apparate on University grounds.

Glancing into the darkness, she recognised two of her new friends and classmates, Tanya and Fran, Petrified against the wall of the lecture hall. At the same time she saw the flash of green,  and Fran went down. 

"Stupefy!" she called out, aiming into the dark at the origin of the green light. The curse bounced off an invisible shield, and she had to duck out of the way, throwing up a shield of her own.

"Nice try, Miss Granger, but that won't work," someone said in the darkness. She recognized the high and whining voice. Pettigrew! 

"Petrificus Totalus!" It, too, bounced back. Pettigrew laughed.

"Expelliarmus!" That one had no effect whatsoever. She could see the Rat now, silver hand glinting softly in the shadows.

"Like the reflector spell my Master taught me?" Pettigrew inquired. Then he didn't even bother with her, but turned his wand toward Tanya. 

_*There's no blocking it*. _She knew of only one curse that might make it through his shield. "Avada Kedavra!"

A stream of green lit up the space between the buildings again, and indeed, it did not bounce off but cut through the Death Eater's shield without even a sparkle. Hermione felt intensely relieved as Pettigrew went down.

The Petrificus curse on Tanya broke as Pettigrew died. Hermione rushed over to her friend and study-mate as the girl crumbled and started to cry. There was no need to check on Fran. 

Moments later, she heard running footsteps and shouts. 

"You're surrounded by Aurors," one of the new arrivals called out. "Give up and we will let you live."

"The Death Eater is dead," Hermione called back. 

"I'm not taking any risks, throw down your wand and come out, anyone who is there."

Hermione glanced at Tanya, then she complied. Tanya didn't have her wand, but Hermione carefully tossed hers out where the Aurors could see it, then walked forward with her hands above her head.

Two of the Aurors rushed her, two others grabbed Tanya, and one picked up her wand.

"There's two dead here," a sixth called out. 

None of the Aurors asked what happened, but the one who picked up her wand cast Prior Incantato. Hermione's breath caught as she saw the ghostly pale green light flash from the wand.

The Aurors who held her tensed, holding her tighter, as if she could possibly pull free from the two large, armed men. 

"This is your wand, isn't it?" the one who had cast the spell asked. 

"I had to, he killed Fran and he would've killed Tanya," Hermione defended herself.

"So you admit you used the Killing Curse?"

"It was self-defense. Let me explain what happened." She couldn't help but worry now. Surely they would allow her to explain?

"She's right, she tried other curses but he had a shield up, they bounced off," Tanya supported her. 

"Quiet!" the Auror barked. "Do you admit to using the Killing Curse?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Yes," she said. "It was as Tanya said, I tried…"

"Shut up!" the Auror cut her off. "Take her away."

The two Aurors who held her acknowledged his order, and she was dragged off, more worried every moment. Well, she would be able to explain what happened once they got to the Ministry. 

The Aurors took her to the nearest office, then took her by Floo to a Ministry building. She wasn't sure where. They searched her, took her cloak, and put her in a small cell with only a cot and a blanket. Any attempt to talk was cut off brusquely.

She didn't see anyone until the next morning when she was taken out of her cell again. The same two Aurors took her into a small, almost bare room. Her wand was laying on the only piece of furniture, a small table up against one of the walls.

To her dismay, the Minister of Magic himself entered soon after.

"Miss Granger," he said. "So you show your true colours again."

"Sir?" she asked, a little confused but also very, very worried.

"Using the Killing Curse. Do you and your friends regularly practice Unforgivables?"

"This has nothing to do with any of my friends. I have little or no contact with them. I'd never cast the spell before, and it was self-defense," Hermione said, trying to keep calm.

"There is no excuse for the Killing Curse, you should know that."

It was true, according to the letter of the law even a single casting of any of the Unforgivables meant a life sentence in Azkaban. But there were many exceptions, a great number of the Death Eaters had pleaded to be under Imperius, while others, like the Malfoys, had received sentences of months or years only, and there were still a few who had been able to avoid trial completely. Surely she would at least get a chance to defend herself? "He would've killed Tanya, he'd already…"

"Silence!" Fudge barked. "According to your friend, he did not cast Imperius on you. Were you acting of your own accord?"

"Yes," Hermione had to admit.

"Then you know the consequences. Azkaban, for the rest of your natural life." The Minister took her wand from the table and snapped it in two. Then he whirled around and made for the door.

"No!" Hermione called out, panicking now. "Don't I even get a trial?"

Fudge turned. "You just had it."

"No, you can't, please at least let me explain…," she yelled, trying to start forward. The Aurors held her back and one cast a silencing spell on her. She cried silently as they pulled her out of the room, through the corridors and out of the building.


	2. Azkaban

**2. Azkaban**

She was led into the huge, stone building by the Aurors. She shivered as she felt the cold, from the bare stone building and from the Dementors as they entered a small room where two of the creatures were waiting. The Dementors had willingly returned to the prison and the Ministry's control after the battle with Voldemort, one more thing Fudge saw as proof that Voldemort was indeed dead. Hermione wasn't so sure. If Voldemort were laying low he couldn't afford to have hundreds of Dementors around, but each time Voldemort had come out in the open the Dementors had soon abandoned the Ministry. She couldn't understand why Fudge trusted them. She shivered, from the cold as well as from fear. She still didn't have her cloak and she was chilled to the bone. 

"5437C," one of the Aurors barked. "One count of the Killing Curse, life." He released the silencing spell, then pushed her forward roughly, but not before she felt his hands trembled a little. She didn't start to cry or plead. It'd taken hours to get here, without Apparating or Flooing, and she'd had some time to collect herself. 

The Dementors merely drew their rattling breaths, not replying. She wasn't sure if they could even speak with those mouths? The cold hit her in waves and a rotting smell emanated from the Dementors. Their hands felt clammy on her skin as they pushed their slimy, scaly hands out from their sleeves and grabbed her. The Auror's reaction was easy to understand, the Dementors were horrible! The Aurors quickly turned, leaving the room, and she was left alone with her jailers. 

The Dementors pulled her around roughly, still without making a sound, leading her to the only other door of the room as they glided alongside her. The cold seeped further into her, and she was aware of them burrowing into her thoughts. She shivered with more than cold as she felt the despair hit her, her worst memories surfacing. The day her grandma died. The time in fifth year when she had found herself facing the Death Eaters. And most of all yesterday, when Fudge had broken her wand. The main things that were currently occupying her mind weren't happy thoughts, though, and were left alone. And part of her mind, the analytical part that was always curious no matter what her consciousness was thinking of, wondered how they did it, and whether they lived off the mental energy alone.

"Just tell me where you want me to go, I won't make any trouble," she said quietly as they dragged her roughly into the broad, stone corridor, through a heavy, barred door, and out into the gloomy corridor beyond. She wasn't near as calm as she appeared, but she would try to be polite rather than fight. 

The Dementor on her right turned to her, although it did not stop gliding down the almost-dark hall. She couldn't see much of its eyeless features under its hood, but she could have sworn it was staring at her. 

'You're a strange one. You aren't mad already?' 

She could hear it inside her head, it hadn't spoken aloud. 

"You're telepathic," she said. 

'Why aren't you afraid like the others?'

She grimaced. "I would've thought if you fed on thoughts you'd be able to make them out better. I am afraid."

'Nothing compared to the others. It's all those who come here can think of, even the Death Eaters. Even the Aurors are afraid of us,' the Dementor sent to her.

"I could tell," she replied. "He…" She started to say he trembled, but since she thought that amusing, the Dementor immediately sucked the thought away and she stopped, blinking. 

'Don't you know who we are?' it asked.

"You're Dementors," she answered automatically. "You guard Azkaban, and you take all remotely happy thoughts from the prisoners. I saw some of you before years ago, and I was scared then. I didn't think it was possible to reason with you. I'm…" Once again she lost track of her thoughts, as she had wanted to say she was glad to find out that wasn't all true. "It's really confusing when you do that while I'm talking, I forgot what I wanted to say," she remarked.

'No one ever talks to us.' Even though it hadn't spoken aloud, it had sounded, or felt, like the Dementor was puzzled. 'Only to scream or beg.'

"Or to give orders," she said, sneering as she thought of the Aurors. She really hated the Ministry. And then to think she'd once thought the Wizarding world had been only wonderful… She sighed. "Do you have to do that?" 

'It's what we do, you know that.'

"Do you have to? I mean, is it like breathing or do you control what you take?"

'We can control it. The Aurors wouldn't dare come here otherwise,' it thought at her, and immediately sucked away the amusement that comment gave her. It really was getting on her nerves! 'We're just not used to controlling what we thoughts we take from the prisoners, why should we?'

"Because it's really hard to hold a conversation when you make me forget what I was going to say all the time," she replied, frustrated.

'No one ever talks to us,' it repeated.

"You said that. But I do," she pointed out.

'Why?'

She shrugged. "I'm gonna be here for the rest of my life, I figured it wouldn't hurt to be polite."

The Dementor stopped at an open door. For a moment she felt it hesitate, then it let her go as it thought at her. 'This is your cell.'

She went in without resisting. It was a small, bare cell, with only a cot, a thin, folded blanket, and a hole in the corner of the floor. It wasn't much, but she hadn't expected more. "Thank you," she said. "For telling me, instead of pushing me in." She was also aware that her relief at this wasn't disappearing. She was still shivering, but the cold was less than before, especially from the inside.

One Dementor turned as if to leave, but the other, who, she was sure, was the only one who'd 'spoken' to her, did not. 

'Don't think that being polite will stop us from feeding on your thoughts. Is that what you hoped?'

She shrugged again. "Not really, I don't think. It's just what I said, it doesn't hurt to be polite, it can't make it any worse." She frowned in frustration. "At least I think that's all I hoped, it's hard to be sure if there's more I can't remember right now." 

'You really are different from any others we've ever had in here,' the Dementor sent, fascinated. 'Why, who are you?'

"Maybe it's because I was Muggle-born, I don't have the same prejudices the wizards do."

'You think what the wizards think of us is prejudice?' it inquired.

 She shrugged. "I was afraid it wasn't, but maybe it is. You're talking to me, aren't you? The Ministry hates the Werewolves too, and the Centaurs, and almost anyone who isn't human. But they are as bad or worse, they didn't care who it was I killed, didn't care Pettigrew would've killed me and my friend. I don't know if it'd have made a difference, but they didn't even hear my side of what happened. In the Muggle world even the worst killers get heard. And then… you work for them and yet they fear and loathe you, why do you stand for it?"

'They allow us to feed on you. They would fight us if we fed on them.'

"You can't need a lot. From what I've heard most here are too afraid to have any happy thoughts at all. There's got to be another way. They hold you prisoner here almost as much as us." She wasn't sure why she took the chance to say these things, except that, well, it had asked, and she probably couldn't make things worse than they'd be if she said nothing at all.

'They're afraid of us. They wouldn't allow us among them, ever. This works for everyone, we guard their prisoners and we can feed in return.'

"Of course no one cares what it does to the prisoners," she remarked dryly.

'No.'

Well, she'd known that since Fudge broke her wand. She wasn't sure what else to say, and after a few moments the Dementors drifted back and closed the cell door. 

She sat on the edge of the bed and as usual when she was alone and without a book to read, she lost herself in thought. There was so much she'd read before, she didn't need a new book to keep herself busy. 

Whether it was this activity, or whether they always came to a new arrival, she didn't know, but she wasn't left alone for long. Soon she felt the cold and the charms problem she thought of was pulled from her mind. They didn't intend to leave her alone. Not that she'd really expected it, the Dementor had told her they would still feed on her, no matter what. Nor could she talk to anyone, these Dementors didn't open the door. She saw them through the small, barred window in the door, only stopping for a moment as they floated through the corridor.

More passed in the hall, and she didn't get a chance to think of any interesting anymore. Or of anything else but what a bitter disappointment the Wizarding world had been to her. She shivered again as the cold inside returned.

Then they did open her cell, coming in as they needed to go deeper to get to her pleasant memories. 

She nodded at them as they entered, that was something she didn't really have to think about, they looked humanoid enough that some basic greeting came automatic. And they were surprised, but there were more of them here now, and she hadn't barely the time to register the thought before it was pulled from her. They had their hoods thrown back, their eyeless faces and round, toothless mouths clearly visible. The cold inside her grew worse and she was shivering uncontrollably. She started to cry, then grabbed her head, trying to hold on to something as she could feel the Dementors' touch deeper inside her, pulling out parts of her memory, not just current thoughts. The one thing that remained at the surface was how she was stuck here and how dreadful the Wizarding world had turned out, after all her high hopes and dreams –which she could no longer remember. There had to be six or seven of them in the small cell, now, with more of them in the corridor outside. Damn, they didn't have to come all at once!

'I told you we would feed on you, like on all the others,' she heard inside her head. She looked up and instantly picked out the one who had spoken to her before.

"You can read my thoughts literally," she said, aloud out of habit as much as anything. "You really are telepathic." 

One of the Dementors instantly sucked the thought out of her head, and she shook her head in confusion as she heard another Dementor –a distinctly different 'voice', female?- sent, 'And you really do talk to us. I thought he was kidding.'

"Kidding? Dementors can be kidding?" she asked, incredulously. More of the Dementors had stopped feeding now so she had time to do so, but moments later the thought was sucked away by one of those who hadn't paused. She sighed in frustration. It was very unsettling and frightening to constantly lose the thoughts she had, as soon as she thought them. 

'Yes, we can,' the Dementor sent. 

Damn, how could anyone talk like this? "Can what?" she said out loud, as she'd also lost the thought she'd had earlier, learning the Dementors didn't need her to speak aloud.

She became aware less and less thoughts were pulled from her, until none were reaching inside her any more. She wondered why, since they'd taken every memory of the conversation that had led to this respite. She was about to ask when she received the answer. 

'You really do talk to us,' the Dementor repeated. 'I didn't believe it when my brother told me.'

"Your brother?" she echoed. She wondered if she was so confused because of the thoughts taken from her, or if she was influenced by what the Aurors had told her. Dementors were intelligent enough to run a jail, why *_wouldn't* _they have a sort of family structure, even if they were energy beings? They didn't pop into existence fully grown, did they?

'We have families. Not that they care.'

"They?"

'The Aurors,' the Dementor thought at her again. 'You don't have to speak aloud.'

Ah, of course, something came back to her now, she was sure she'd just heard that. 'You're full telepaths,' she thought. Then she added, 'do *_they*_ know *_that*_?' 

Since the possibility they didn't was very amusing, immediately, the thought was pulled out of her head. She blinked and shook her head. 

'Sorry,' the Dementor told her, turning to the others. Several of the other Dementors now left the room. The two she'd spoken to remained, so did one other. 

'No, the Aurors don't know we can read their minds. We only respond to what they say aloud. They'd be even more scared if they knew,' the first Dementor sent. 'They wouldn't ever come here or allow us to work for them, even here.' 

She had grinned for a fleeting second when she heard the Aurors didn't know the Dementors read their thoughts, but she didn't need a Dementor to lose that pleasant thought when she understood the reason. Of course the Aurors wouldn't trust the Dementors, not with the way they treated anyone who wasn't human. She turned back to the previous topic. 'You have families here?' she asked. 

'Just a few,' the second Dementor said. 'There is little energy to spare, and most of those who had young during the Dark Lord's reign have moved away. It's no place for children, ours no more than yours.'

'Makes sense,' she thought back. Then she realised that she had no idea where else the Dementors lived, except for in Azkaban. There weren't any Dementors in England outside Azkaban, were there? She wished they'd studied them more, instead of only learning how to fight them! 

'They live abroad, in the mountains and the northern countries,' the reply came. 'We fare better where it is cold and dry, but some of us came to these parts of the world, where there are more people.'

The third Dementor asked, 'Why are you so curious about us? All others fear and loathe us.'

She felt some fear and loathing, and she knew it was useless to hide it. Even if it seemed they could only literally hear those things she consciously thought of, they'd dug deeper inside her just now. And of course they'd read this thought now, she thought somewhat peeved. She'd have to really learn to think about what she thought. If that was even possible. 'Because I'm curious about everything, I think,' she replied.

'We prey on humans, it's natural for you to be afraid of us,' the Dementor replied.

'You can control it,' she pointed out. 'So I can control my fear.'

'Are all Muggles like you?'

She snorted. 'Not exactly.' She'd been an outsider in the Muggle world, more often than not. People would shun her for the way she would rather read or dream than watch a popular series on television. Most of *_them*_ would never accept the Dementors, even if they would be able to see them, would be more afraid yet than the wizards. Bigotry existed in both worlds, that much was sure. Remus had to leave the school when it came out he was a Werewolf, Madam Maxime tried to deny she was half-Giant, the house-elves were treated like dirt by many, and all of them looked basically human, or humanoid. Well, most of the month.

'We won't come with as many at once again,' the Dementor who'd brought her to her cell told her.

She was surprised. 'Thanks –but why?'

'You treat us like human beings,' -except that the word she heard in her head wasn't really 'human', for a Dementor would not use that in this context, nor was it 'Dementor' as she would attach a different meaning to that, clearly telepathy didn't solve all cultural communication difficulties- 'we will return the favor.'

'Thank you,' she replied. She frowned. 'Do you have.. names?' she thought next. 'It's confusing without.'

'We don't use words like humans do. We use mental images among each other. I am,' A thought she couldn't possibly describe in words flashed into her mind. 'My sister is,' A distinctly different image, but just as indescribable in English. She got the impression of 'cold' and 'dark' but that applied to both of them. The third Dementor added his picture. She might be able to send them –with some difficulty- but she'd never be able to say them. 

'You don't need to,' (dark place with a cold breeze and –no, expressing his name in words was impossible) pointed out. 'No other humans know our image. No one but you has asked, and you will have little opportunity to speak with anyone.'

She grimaced as she was reminded of both facts. She'd already established no one cared for the Dementors, but she hadn't quite realised she would see no one but the Dementors here. In Muggle jails there was some contact with the other prisoners, as well as a little contact with the outside world. Here, she could expect neither. All the more reason to be friendly with the Dementors. She'd never been racist, or specieist as the case might be.

'I am Hermione,' she volunteered. Although they probably already knew that, they'd been deep enough into her thoughts earlier.

'So far, I've not remembered any one prisoner's image. I didn't have a reason to,' the first Dementor sent. 'But I will know yours.'

'Thank you,' she thought, and added his image as well as she could.

'Not bad for a human,' he replied.

'It is time for us to distribute the food. We will return,' the female Dementor told her.

She nodded, and the Dementors left without taking any more of her thoughts.


	3. With the Dementors

**3. With the Dementors.**

Over the next several weeks, the Dementors would come to her cell regularly. They would feed on her, but never an entire group at once. One or two of them would come into her cell, and they'd take the thoughts she sent to the surface. She'd agreed readily to the arrangement when the first Dementor suggested it. She learned to control her thoughts pretty well, and most of the Dementors would be careful in what they took. There were two who were not so kind, who disliked her even though she was polite and respectful towards them. They pulled memories from deep inside, from her childhood years and her days at Hogwarts, frequently leaving her shaking and crying. But the others took only what she offered freely, and the damage was not permanent. She had plenty of time to recover before the two harsh ones –she knew their images too, from the first Dementor and his sister- would return. 

Not that it was pleasant. The longer she was here, the more appalled she was by the conditions. The food was terrible, bland grains or beans cooked to a mush. There was only water to drink, from a bucket, without even a cup. It was always cold, even when no Dementors were near, and the straw mattress and thin blanket provided little comfort. And there were bugs. She didn't even care much about the roaches but the mattress and blanket were infested with lice and other vermin. Soon she was too, there was no way not to use the bedding, as cold as the cell was. She asked the Dementors but they had neither cleaner bedding nor any potions to use against the infestation.

She was taken out of her cell to a shower stall once a week, and soon developed the habit of washing her clothes and blanket on alternate weeks. In the cold cell, it took them a full day to dry so she couldn't wash them both at once, but she wrapped herself in the blanket while her clothes dried. There was no one to see her. She had no way to clean the mattress but it helped a little.

She had hoped that Professor Dumbledore would hear about her predicament, and would be able to do something, but the longer she was here, the more her hope diminished, and it had nothing to do with the Dementors' feeding. Dumbledore and the Minister had been at odds for years. Apparently he could not do anything or she would've heard something by now. Security had tightened after the escapes of Sirius, Crouch and the entire group of Death Eaters. 

She'd asked the Dementor about them, only Sirius had truly fooled them, they knew little to nothing about Animagi. They'd done nothing to stop the Death Eaters when they knew Voldemort had returned and simply hadn't cared when Crouch's mother took his place. It was hard to believe the Aurors thought the Dementors hadn't noticed; a new person's thoughts were very different from anyone who'd been here for years, even if they were ill and depressed. But they'd simply gone along, satisfied with the fresh mind to feed on and not at all eager to help the Aurors, especially not when doing so meant exposing the extend of their own abilities. 

So the Aurors had taken their own measures, and no one was allowed to visit, nor were prisoners allowed to receive mail. Yet for a while she'd still hoped that Professor Dumbledore would somehow be able to get through to her. As time passed, she realized it would not happen. And if he could not even contact her, how could he possibly get her released?

Most of the Dementors would speak with her. At first she'd asked them about the outside world, curious about current events in the Wizarding and Muggle world alike, but she soon learned they knew very little about either. They had no contact with anyone but the Aurors, and, understandably, cared little for a world that did not care for them. They knew even less about the Muggle world, they didn't even know there'd been a war on. So instead she told them about the Muggles when they asked, recalled events from her early years and things she'd read about while she sorted through her own mind coming up with things for them to feed on, and she asked them about their culture.

She also started to learn their language. The Dementors could understand and send English, or she wouldn't have been able to talk with them in the first place, but their own language was more like the images which formed their names. Mental pictures, concepts, thoughts. It wasn't hard to learn any particular word or phrase, but it was difficult to understand how to string them together to form a new sentence or to tell a longer story. The entire image changed when it was used next to another one, flowing into one another in what seemed to be infinite combinations. She soon learned the Dementors, who had no books or visual script, had a rich oral –or mental- history, but she was as of yet unable to understand more than the most simple children's tales. 

They no longer scared her. No matter the history of hostility between them and the humans, they were no more scary than humans could be, and far less than some. Even the name, Dementors, that humans had given them was negatively loaded, their own image for themselves would be better translated as 'Mind People'.   

She never saw the other prisoners, except as shadows passing through the hall when she looked out through the tiny barred window in her door, but she heard them. Almost always someone was screaming or crying, when the Dementors fed on a prisoner, or sometimes just because of the madness. It made her uncomfortable, knowing the Dementors could select and feed as they did on her, but they saw no reason to do so on the rest. They had been ordered by the Minister to treat the Death Eaters like any of the others. After Voldemort's first reign, they'd taken some care not to cause permanent harm to those who had served him, as many believed he'd return. Even then the Dementors had hardly been gentle and not all had been able to recover fully, now there was no such respite for the imprisoned Death Eaters. The wizards saw them only as a kind of predator, they saw them only as food. For those who'd been here for a long time, it wouldn't make a difference, they were too far gone. 

So she accepted the grim status quo as far as the other prisoners were concerned. For herself, she was still looking for ways to improve her situation. She talked the Dementors into giving her a second blanket, so she was no longer chilled all the time. 

She'd developed a bad cold almost immediately after her arrival, and they hadn't had any Pepper-up Potion to give her. They explained the Aurors would only provide potions for the worst cases, and even then were stingy in what they supplied. She could sometimes hear other prisoners cough as well as scream, and it was a miracle there weren't more deaths. Fortunately, she got over her cold after she got the second blanket and skipped that week's laundry.

Simple personal effects like toilet paper, a toothbrush and a comb were also unavailable, but she got a second bucket of water and some rags, she picked a splinter off the rough wood of the cot to use as a tooth pick, and she disentangled her hair with her fingers. If there was one thing she had plenty of, it was time.

Even with her active mind and the Dementors' visits the days were long. She was quickly irritated and it was harder to come up with thoughts for the Dementors to feed on all the time. 

One day, about three months after her arrival, when the first Dementor came to see her she gathered her courage and asked. 'Isn't there anything I can do? It won't matter what, clean the halls or the showers, something in the kitchen.'

'We're not supposed to let you out of your cell except for washing.'

She knew by now how the Ministry worked. Or just about any other authority for that matter. 'Not supposed to or is it simply never done?' People didn't make rules for things they couldn't even conceive would happen.

'I don't think they mentioned it specifically,' he admitted.

She couldn't help a smirk. 'You know I won't escape,' she stated. She had no idea where, in either world, she could go, and no desire to be hunted for the rest of her life. She couldn't go to Hogwarts, and even the Weasleys in Romania were already in enough trouble with the Wizarding world for opposing the Ministry, without the added burden of taking her in as an escaped prisoner. Sirius had managed for two years, but mostly because he'd been an Animagus. She didn't have that advantage. 'I just want to get out of this little hole.'

'I wouldn't know what you could do. No one ever cleans the halls, there's no need for them to be clean nor anything to clean with. The food's made by house-elves who'd freak if a human helped them, even a prisoner.'

'House-elves, here?' She blinked.

'We don't eat organic foods, we don't prepare them,' the Dementor explained.

Well, so much for that idea. 

'Perhaps the reports,' the Dementor started. 'No, the Aurors would notice if they were done in human handwriting.'

'Reports?' she asked.

'We send a report every week, listing any supplies that have run out, serious illnesses we need potions for, any deaths. It's difficult for us to write, not being able to see and we're not used to it. Sometimes there's a blot and they send it back saying it's unreadable.'

A Muggle pen or even a typewriter would make it much easier, and what about a quick quote quill, could it made to respond to the Dementors' sending? But she didn't even mention that in the forefront of her thoughts. Why would the Aurors do anything to accommodate them? 'I could look it over and check if it's legible before you send it out. Or I could probably fake your handwriting, minus the blots of course. Copying someone's handwriting is pretty easy, not in the smallest detail but I doubt they check closely.' She snorted.

'I'll come get you when I write the next report,' he promised.

'Thank you,' she replied.. The Dementors didn't have a true command structure, but he was one of the few who dealt directly with the Aurors, which meant he could pretty much make decisions about anything within the building without having to ask permission.

So two days later he took her to the office. It was orderly, as it would have to be where the Dementors handled written materials. A few regular quills lay on the desk, next to an ink jar. 

The Dementor sat at the desk and took out a piece of parchment and a quill. Writing was indeed difficult, the letters were thick as he dipped the quill in the ink more frequently than needed, and he had a hard time finding the exact place where he'd left off each time he had to remove the pen from the paper to dip it into the jar. All things a simple Muggle pen would fix, but they weren't likely to get one. The text also sloped downward on the right, as with someone used only to writing on lined paper. 

'If I tell you what you're doing, you could probably fix it quickly enough,' she observed. It'd be somewhat difficult but the Dementors were used to being blind, he'd pick up quickly enough as long as there was someone to direct him.

He considered it for a moment. 'Rather just stick to checking it for legibility. They'd know someone with human eyesight was involved otherwise.'

'Al right,' she agreed. The report was very brief, as they had few enough items which could get depleted, apart from the food. 

Afterwards, the Dementor led her back to the cell. It hadn't been much but she was still glad for the diversion.

The next week she did the writing, making sure it didn't look too much better, but was still legible. There was no temptation to request any additional items. The Dementors had told her the Aurors were stingy enough with those things they really needed, and anything requested too often would receive comment. As if there was any way to make do with less than they already had.

Returning, the Dementor allowed her to stop by the showers, even though it wasn't her usual day. 

'I'd let you go by yourself,' he said when she was done and they were back in her cell, 'but (image of the two Dementors who disliked her) would not agree. They'd hurt you if they found you out alone.'

She grimaced. 'They know I won't try to escape, they just hate me for being human. Would they dare try their Kiss?'

'They wouldn't go that far, even they won't do that without explicit orders,' he replied. 'But they'd forcefully take a lot of your deeper thoughts. Or they might take what you learned here, that's what bothers them most. Maybe if you could learn to block them.'

The Dementors could block each other, but they had much greater mental abilities than she did. 'I doubt I'll ever be able to keep them out if they are determined to get what they wanted.'

'You don't have to. They won't break through if you throw up a good shield. Even if you are a human. That just isn't done, any more than they'd try the Kiss on anyone without being ordered to.'

She frowned. 'I saw one try that once.'

The Dementor's response was immediate, angry. 'Not here.' 

She drew back at the ferocity of his reaction. 'No, not here,' she replied. She didn't explain in words, simply remembering the time she'd watched from Hagrid's cabin, at the end of her third year. A huge group of Dementors had swarmed them, and one had been about to give Harry the Kiss, she never doubted that was what it had been about to do. 

'You were there?' he asked her, although of course it was a rhetorical question, he'd just seen exactly what she had seen.

'I saw it.'

'And you still spoke to us when you came here.' 

'I think I didn't think of it at all, at the time.' She had reacted almost automatically, her curiosity latching on to the things she discovered about the Dementors, so she wouldn't have to think about her fears. She wasn't at all sure she'd been in conscious control at the time, so she wouldn't take the credit. But even afterwards, she'd almost forgotten about that time. The Dementors fed forcefully on the other prisoners, but she believed the Dementor when it said no prisoner had ever received the Kiss without orders from the Ministry.

'The one who did that was new here, and she was not allowed to return,' the Dementor told her. 'No matter how angry we all were about the escape and the way the humans ordered us about, we had agreed to follow those orders. To lose control like that is unacceptable. Those who dislike you will be angry, but they are competent.'

She was learning how to control her thoughts, not letting every fleeting thought bob to the surface, which was about the equivalent of talking aloud to any Dementor in the vicinity. But how could she stop a Dementor from taking what he wanted? She'd never managed to get good at Occlumency, in spite of her criticism of Harry when he'd had a hard time learning. And she had no way to perform such magic here. 'I have no idea how to even start blocking or shielding my thoughts without using a wand,' she admitted.

The Dementor seemed hesitant. 'There is a way we use to teach out children, or to exchange a part of ourselves, more than we can using thoughts and images only,' he ventured finally. 'The thing is, it is rather intimate, irreversible, and I'm not sure what the effect will be on a human. It should be safe if I'm careful enough, but it may not be pleasant. And some of the others may not like it any better than letting you walk around on your own.'

'I'd be willing to try,' she sent back. 'If you are.' He had seemed very reluctant to bring it up, but she was always up for a challenge. Eager, even.

'Then we will try,' he decided. 'Better sit down.'

She sat on her cot, which was still the only piece of furniture she had. He bent over her, reaching for her and pulling her close. He didn't wear his hood –most of the Dementors didn't, not here in Azkaban. She was long used to his features, and when he came even closer, placing his mouth over hers, she wasn't afraid. She trusted him, before or after their last conversation. 

Even so, it was a disconcerting feeling. He breathed in, lightly, and it was as if something from deep inside her was torn lose, peeled from the base of her skull and pulled from her spinal cord. Then he breathed out, forcing his cold breath into her lungs, and she felt the cold flood through her entire body. 

He straightened, but held her up as she swayed, shaking from the experience. Dimly she realised she could feel him now, not in great detail but she recognised concern, fascination, more. 

'It worked,' he stated, satisfied. 'The exchange gave you some of our abilities. Not as strong, I didn't dare go too deep the first time, but you will be able to have more control.' 

'Thank you,' she replied sincerely. 

'If anyone gives you trouble, call me, I will hear you if you concentrate on me. But it would be better if you'd learn to use it first, don't volunteer this to anyone.'

'I won't,' she promised. 

He bade her goodbye and glided from the cell. She remained behind and sorted through her mind, careful to keep her thoughts at a deeper level where no one could 'overhear' while passing in the hall. That was definitely easier now, too. She was in more control of all her thoughts. 

He returned later that day. 'Can you handle some more?' he asked.

'I think so,' she replied. She'd quickly adjusted to the new sensations, and apart from the initial dizziness had felt no adverse effects. 

He reached for her and once again she felt as if a part of her was torn from her, quickly replaced by the cold essence of the Dementor. Even though she knew he'd gone further this time, she was less shaky when he was done. 

'Now try to block me,' he instructed when the dizziness had gone. 

She frowned, concentrating. She could feel him as so often when he fed on her, but this time she pushed back. She couldn't hold him for long, but since just that morning she'd had no idea how she could even try, she wasn't too unhappy about the results. 

She felt his satisfaction, but also an urge to go on. She tried again and again, slowly increasing the length of time she could hold him off for. 

The next morning he returned again, and once again he breathed in and out, sharing his abilities with her. The cold inside her went deeper, but it was not an unpleasant sensation. 

Once again he instructed her to block her, and they practised for at least an hour. He told her he'd shared all he could, she now had to train her abilities. As always when she had a challenge, she threw herself into it completely, and she made quick progress. 

They were still at it when another Dementor came in to feed on her. She could feel his shock before he sent anything. He didn't address her, and she wasn't sure if it was because of her new abilities or because he was yelling that she could hear him. Usually she couldn't overhear when two Dementors spoke together, only when they sent to her directly.

'What are you doing?' he asked. 'You shared with her?'

'I only shared with her for the purpose of teaching her control, nothing else,' the Dementor replied.

The other Dementor drew a loud breath, something she'd come to recognise as a snort. 'Do you intend to claim her for yourself? She's human!'

'It is as I said, I only shared what she needed to learn control. Since she _is_ human, she has no one else to teach her.'

'No one's ever taught a human.' Yet he felt marginally less upset.

'None have ever cared to learn.'

The other Dementor turned to her. 'So will you still *_allow*_ us to feed on you?' he sneered.

'I won't block you,' she said. 'I agreed to offer thoughts for any of you, and I will do so.'

The Dementor snorted again, but he did not argue any further. She pulled up some memories, easier than it had been for weeks, with her increased control and her better mood. The Dementor pulled them from her, a little roughly as he was clearly still irritated, but he didn't try to take anything beyond what she offered and she didn't protest. 

'There'll be more of that, won't there?' she asked when the other Dementor had left. He hadn't been one of those with whom she's spoken most often, but neither had he been one of those who'd had a serious problem with her.

'Most will get over it. When they find out I only shared to teach you.'

She recalled the other Dementor had asked about claiming her. For the first time, she started to understand. 'You said you use the sharing for teaching children and for exchanging part of yourselves –you don't use it often, do you?'

'Among adults, it is done only between partners, a sharing of souls,' he admitted. 'I should have told you, but I wouldn't share in that way without your knowledge and consent. The teaching is easy to control and little else is exchanged.'

'I understand,' she sent. 'Thank you for doing this for me, it can't be easy. You'll get a lot of flak for doing this.'

'They will get over it,' he repeated, shrugging it off.

There were a few more confrontations later that day, when word spread. She didn't hear all of it since he didn't remain with her the entire day, but several came by her cell, coming to see for themselves. Those who disliked her most didn't show up, which was a relief.

The next morning the Dementor came early. 'You can go to the showers if you're up to it. There's rarely anyone in there until the second half of the morning.'

'Thanks,' she replied. She was a little nervous but she had no difficulty pushing her nervousness firmly down, to where it wouldn't be apparent to everyone she passed.

'Don't go anywhere else, not just yet,' he cautioned her. 

'I won't,' she ensured him. 

She grabbed the buckets, she always brought her own fresh water when she was going to the showers anyhow, and strode off down the hall. 

She reached the bathroom without incident. She took a long shower, relishing the warm water running down her back. Surprisingly enough they had warm water here, and soap, even though it was a coarse and cheap kind. Not that most of the prisoners were much cleaner for it, the stench coming from the cells of those who were no longer capable of washing themselves was horrible. 

She dried herself with one of the rare clean towels, then rinsed out the buckets and filled them. She'd see about washing her blankets and clothes more often, although even with a second blanket it was chilly on laundry nights, when the washed blankets or clothes were still drying. Or was it? She frowned as she realised she felt less cold than usual. Her imagination or did the sharing have something to do with that? 

She shrugged, she'd pay more attention to it today. Now, she had to get back to her cell, it wouldn't be long before the Dementors would come to feed. She hoped it won't take long for them to get used to her new abilities and she would do what she could by making sure she upheld her part of the agreement. 

When she made her way down the hall, she felt one of the Dementors approach before she saw him. She put up her mental shields, hiding her nervousness. To her dismay –hidden from casual contact, but she knew it would be found if he tried- it was one of those who hated her. 

'What are you doing here?' he inquired. 

'I took a shower and I'm going back to my cell,' she replied, sending to him directly instead of just thinking it. 

She felt him reach for her thoughts and she blocked him. For just a moment she thought he was going to break through, but then he pulled back.

'So it's true, he has shared with you.' 

'Yes,' she replied. 

'I can break that flimsy block in a heartbeat.'

'But you won't,' she sent.

'And why shouldn't I? You're not a Dementor,' he spat.

'No, but you are,' she replied quietly. Since he had pulled back the first time, she was pretty sure he wouldn't forcefully attack her. 

'You're still a prisoner here. We will feed on you.'

'Of course,' she replied. 'I will not stop you when you come to my cell.'

'I take what I want, I don't beg for hand-outs like the others,' he hissed. 

'No one begs for hand-outs. It's an agreement to give what I can without losing my sanity and it's a hell of a lot better than what you can get forcefully from anyone else, except for the newest arrivals. If it weren't for that, you wouldn't be able to get anything much from me by now,' she pointed out.

'It's disgusting.' He whirled around and zoomed off. A little ways down the hall a door slammed and a man started screaming. Hermione felt a stab of guilt. She knew how the other prisoners were treated, not just by this Dementor but by all of them, even those who treated her well. The difference was probably academic. But it still bothered her that this morning, the man would pay for her privileges. 

She was glad she met no others on her way back. Satisfaction took over as she realised she had managed quite well, facing this particular Dementor, and she put the man's fate out of her mind. She hadn't been the selfish type, but she'd had to learn to accept those things she could not change.

The other Dementors were less upset today, as they found out she kept the agreement, allowing them to feed as always. Those she regular spoke with were pleased, once they got over their initial shock. Being able to send to a specific person and block unwanted thoughts meant the conversations would be smoother and more civilised.

She showered again the next morning, not meeting anyone –Dementors weren't much of a morning people. Like the previous day, she was back in her cell well before any of them came to feed. 

The Dementor who'd shared with her returned in the afternoon. She showed him how the other Dementors had responded, sending entire conversations much quicker than telling about them would be. When she was done, she knew he was satisfied both with the way the Dementors responded and with the way she handled the situation. She didn't hesitate when he offered to take her around and show her the entire complex.

It was much bigger than she'd thought. There were rows and rows of cells, a good number of them empty but lots of others occupied. There were about five hundred prisoners in all, mostly Death Eaters and many who had been there since the end of Voldemort's first reign. A few bathrooms were spaced around the sprawling building, but other than that there were only cells at this level. The office, the room the Aurors had brought her to, and the kitchens were the only rooms above ground level, but since the escapes all windows were blocked so it didn't make a lot of difference. 

The kitchen held only four house-elves, who did the cooking, the cleaning of the bowls and the laundry of the towels. They wore ragged pillowcases and jumped at the sight of her. Hermione had long given up on her efforts to press the house-elves into accepting clothing, money or holidays, but she scowled when she saw their pillowcases were barely in better shape than her own clothes. The Dementor didn't upset them; while Dementors could read and send to the house-elves, their minds were different enough from humans that their thoughts were not palatable at all. 

At the lowest level of Azkaban were the Dementors' quarters. Hermione was surprised he showed her, even though he cautioned her not to come there alone. The level was divided in small apartments consisting of two or three rooms all the same size. It was a bare, depressing sight, with little more furnishings than she had. A simple table, a few chairs, a bed, a hook for some robes, that was all. Of course they didn't have a written language, so no books or book cases, and they didn't need a kitchen for their food, but it still seemed like a very marginal existence. When she mentioned it he shrugged it off, sending it worked for them and they didn't need much.

She met two of the three children who lived here, all boys. The Dementor warned her to always block them, as they were too young to have full control over what they took. At six and seven, the boys were curious to meet her, but quickly drifted off again. They seemed not unlike human children, rushing through the halls and full of energy. Of course, this was hardly a place to play, even for Dementors. Impressions from the stories she'd learned were filled with fields of snow and ice, and forests of great pine trees. But there wouldn't be many people to feed on in those kind of places, and most of the northern territories, like Scandinavia, Canada and Russia, had strong Ministries that didn't like the Dementors any better than anyone else did. So these families had remained here at Azkaban.

The strangest thing about the Dementors' quarters was the sound. Since no one spoke aloud, and no sound from the upper levels penetrated, the only sound that could be heard was the rattling breath of the Dementors, even though there were dozens of them around. There wasn't even the sound of footsteps; the Dementors hovered a little off the ground when they moved and landed soundlessly when they settled down to rest. The rasped breathing was unsettling with no other background noise, and she jumped at the occasional scrape of furniture or the closing of a door.

They received a lot of comment, but no one really argued at the fact that the Dementor was showing her around. Eventually he brought her back to her cell but did not lock her in.


	4. Visitors

**4. Visitors.**

She was pretty much free to move around after that. She showered daily, and made herself walk those halls with the least prisoners every day so she had a little exercise. She avoided the halls were most of the cells were filled; apart from the smell and the screams of the prisoners she could now feel their madness and despair when she came too close, and the hatred of the Death Eaters.

Sometimes the Dementor who'd shared with her, his sister, or one of the others would take her to their quarters on the lower level, where at least there were chairs to sit on. She didn't ask for one, there were hardly enough to go around. She soon got used to the sound, or lack of it, as she picked up more of their mental conversations. She continued to learn the Dementor's language, becoming quite proficient eventually. 

Even with her daily showers, she couldn't get rid of the lice and mites. She washed her clothes and blankets regularly, as she was no longer cold in the cell –she knew for sure it was part of the Dementor's abilities, now- but the critters were hard to get rid of. She tried wandless magic, which should be possible –almost every witch and wizard did some wandless magic as a child, she had once healed her ankle overnight when she'd sprained it the day before she was to go on a school trip, back in third grade. But once you learned magic with a wand, the wandless variety was pretty much suppressed, and she didn't manage to get rid of the bugs consciously or unconsciously. She tried asking the house-elves, but their magic included no useful spells, and sleeping without the mattress only resulted in a painful back and neck. 

The Dementors who hated her and her privileges didn't come often. Only when there were no new prisoners at all would they come feed on her, otherwise they avoided her and acted as if she didn't exist, even if they met in the halls. They made it clear they came only when there was no one else to feed on, and she was sorely tempted to block them completely, but no matter what her privileges she was still a prisoner. So she allowed them to feed like the others. 

New prisoners were brought in regularly, usually every three or four weeks. Almost all were Death Eaters although there was one man who had killed his wife and an alcoholic who'd gone on a drunken rampage in Diagon Alley. Few left; most who came here received a life sentence. In all the time she'd been here, there were only two prisoners released. Neither of them had cast an Unforgivable, and both were transported to St Mungo's. 

This was also the only time she was locked into her cell, when the Aurors came with a new arrival or to take someone away. Sometimes they would just leave the prisoner in the care of the Dementors as they had done when they'd brought her in, but at other times they'd walk around, checking on the condition of the prisoners. She'd store her extra blanket and bucket in the small supply closet near the wash room and the Dementor would lock her in. When the Aurors came, she'd lay curled up on her cot with her back towards the door, drawn back from them.

It wasn't hard to pretend, she could easily read their emotions, and they disgusted her. Loathing and some fear, of course, but the Aurors also felt clear satisfaction at seeing the prisoners in these conditions. She couldn't read their thoughts literally, that was clearly beyond even her enhanced abilities, but sometimes the Dementor would send through what he got from them. There was no way she could be mistaken. Part of her tried to be rational, pointing out that those who would be disgusted by the conditions here likely avoided the prison. She even knew some of the Aurors personally, certainly not everyone would actually approve of the conditions they were held under. Yet a part of her grew more bitter every time she picked up the mental sneer of a visiting Auror. 

So it came as a surprise when she was once again waiting in her cell for a possible Auror inspection, and the Dementor sent to her. 'These two are thinking of you.'

'Of me?' she sent back, not sure she'd heard him correctly. She could send and receive all through the building if she focused, at least with the Dementors, and she'd been listening for him to tell her whether or not the Aurors would want to go through the prison, but it wasn't as clear as speaking over a shorter distance. 'Who are they?'

She knew the Aurors never gave their names, but that was hardly necessary. 

'The one thinks of the other as Leroy, and that one calls the other one Tonks.'

She drew a sharp breath. Last she'd known, Tonks still worked for the Ministry, in spite of Fudge's misrule. She had remained specifically at Dumbledore's request, even though many people were suspicious of her, knowing she'd been with the Order of the Phoenix before the 'final battle'. She'd likely be okay. Yet she didn't know anyone named Leroy. 

'Show me what they're thinking?' she asked. She didn't expect anything extreme, if they came to take her out she'd have heard and if they came to break her out he'd already have picked up on it, but she was eager to know nonetheless. 

He sent her the thoughts he picked up from Tonks, not in words but relaying them directly, which was much faster.

*'Just take this filthy Death Eater to his cell already, I don't really care where he is put. It's Hermione we came to see. Merlin, but it smells bad in here! This is disgusting, I knew it was bad but I didn't know it was this bad. And she's been here for almost a year. Man, these creatures give me the chills just being near them, I can't imagine what they do to the prisoners. Damn, I don't dare to think of what she's gonna be like. Ron and Harry are going to kill Fudge. If I don't kill him first. This is inhuman.'*

'She isn't as bad as the others,' Hermione sent, defending Tonks' disgust at the Dementor. 'And I knew she doesn't like the Minister. I trust her, at least with the basics. The other name doesn't sound familiar. Can you look at him?'

The Dementor gave a mental snort at her evaluation of Tonks, but he didn't argue. 'I'll show you the other,' he sent, and she could see this Leroy's thoughts now. 

*'Well, they do deserve it, they're Death Eaters. It's their own fault. And with so many Death Eaters running around of course Mr Fudge overreacts when anyone else uses a Dark curse. I do wish they'd clean here more often. No doubt they'll get to it soon, it's obviously way overdue.'*

'He doesn't believe an image of what he's thinking,' the Dementor commented as he interrupted his own relaying, knowing she couldn't feel the emotions at this distance. They were still a couple corridors away, well beyond her limit of reading another human. 

'So the question is can we trust someone who isn't even sincere to himself.' She snorted. 'Damn.'

But she had to talk to Tonks, she wouldn't let her go back to Dumbledore, Harry and Ron thinking she'd lost her mind to the Dementors. If only she'd had more time to come up with a plan, she hadn't expected anyone to come for her anymore. She took a seat on her cot, legs pulled up and hugging her knees, not looking completely withdrawn but not letting on exactly what shape she was in until she had a better feel of the other Auror.

She felt them approach and the door opened. Then Tonks stepped in. 

"Hermione! Oh, Merlin, Hermione." 

The concern coming off her was so strong she had to shield against some of it, even though she needed to be alert to Leroy's intentions. She looked up. "Tonks," she meant to say but no sound came out, and she suddenly realised she hadn't used her voice for almost the entire time she'd been here. Even when she had gone to the house-elves she'd been so used to sending instead of speaking that she had not spoken aloud.

"Hermione, are you al right?" Tonks rushed forward and Hermione didn't need to feel her emotions to know she was beside herself. 

She wet her lips and tried again. "I'm… okay. As much as I can be. Haven't talked much for a long time." She managed to speak now, although her voice sounded strange to herself. 

Tonks looked at her intensely and she could feel relief quickly building. "You are… you're not.. you are al right?"

"I'm not insane," she said, ignoring the obvious way Tonks avoided the word, and her uneasiness when she used it. She glanced at the other Auror, a young man with short, dark hair. The Dementor could read both of them literally, but even he couldn't read two people and relay everything they thought all at once, so this time she asked only for a summary. 

'He's as shocked as the other is,' the Dementor sent. 'He's still trying to rationalise it but he's no longer deceiving even himself.'

She sent a reply of relieved thanks, and reassurance. The Dementor did not hide the fact he was uncomfortable with the two visitors, but she was willing to trust both of them now. She sat up straighter and shook her hair out of her face. 

"Hermione, this is Leroy Ferling, he's a new one but he's on our side," Tonks said. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Hermione replied. "Do you have any news?"

Tonks was still stunned. She had gone from concern to relief but now she looked at her closer at her she could feel renewed concern, dismay, and anger, and confusion as she tried to sort it all out. Hermione knew she didn't look good. Regardless of her privileges she was pale from lack of daylight, thin from the inadequate food, and her clothes had seen better days as well.

"I wish I could take you out of here right now, it took us so long to get here, we didn't know how you, what you, how you would be. Albus tried, but it's all he can do to hold on to the school nowadays. Fudge would like best to take Hogwarts from him again, and he'd have Albus in here if he thought he could get away with it." Suddenly Tonks stopped talking with a stab of fear and glanced nervously at the Dementor. 

"You don't have to watch your words. You'll find very few people here who like the Minister," Hermione said. 

Tonks nodded slowly. "I was surprised they returned here after the last battle." 

Hermione sighed. "Look, why don't you sit down so we can talk. I'd recommend the floor, though, or you can turn over the bucket, I'll get more water later. Don't sit on the bed, the mattress is full of vermin."

"Vermin?" More dismay from Tonks, shock and a rather pathetic attempt at denial from Leroy.

She shrugged. It was hardly her main concern at the moment. Tonks sat down on the floor, Leroy remained standing. The Dementor leaned against the wall. He'd often sit with her, human vermin didn't bother the Dementors, but Tonks was already having a hard enough time without seeing the Dementor sitting so close to her. 

Tonks glanced again at the Dementor. "You said, they don't like the Minister. They're not still supporting…" She trailed off again. 

"They're for themselves. Most people don't like the Dementors so they don't like them. The Aurors who come here are hardly an exception, they dislike the Dementors as much as anyone."

A shudder made it clear Tonks felt no different, but Hermione didn't argue now. She still didn't want to give all the details if she could help it. It'd be a shock she didn't need, and also once anyone knew, word might spread. She didn't know what would happen if Fudge found out about her privileges, let alone about the sharing and what she'd learned. 

"I hoped to find you… well," Tonks said quietly as she turned from the Dementor with obvious difficulty. "There's been a lot of pressure from the University. Your classmates and Professors have been working on the Minister, and Albus, Minerva and others have helped them behind the scenes. The Minister… he finally lowered your sentence to three years."

Hermione felt her breath catch. Truth to tell, she never allowed herself to think about how long she'd be here for. As a witch, she could easily live to be a hundred and fifty, and living here for hundred and twenty five years was just not something she could bear think about. Two more years was infinitely less than for ever, but still a very long time. Yet it was something she could survive. 

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "That's great news." 

"We will keep trying to get you released sooner, but I can't promise anything," Tonks said. 

Hermione felt her expression harden. She might know she could manage for three years, but she also knew what it did to just about everyone else. She knew exactly what Fudge intended. Before her, the Dementors had cared little to find out what happened to the prisoners after they were released, but a few months ago the Dementor had picked up on an Auror's thoughts and relayed it to her. "He won't let me go, not unless he were sure I was mad already. That's what he wants. Only the Death Eaters were treated a little better and so they could still function after they broke free, but that's no longer allowed. The Dementors have been ordered to feed on the Death Eaters the same as anyone else now. And apart from them, no one but Sirius has been here for three years or more and has recovered."

Tonks hadn't known, she started at her comment.

"I'll make it," Hermione said quickly. "But don't let anyone know. Professor Dumbledore will be able to keep the secret, and if you don't tell Ron and Harry I'll manage, they'll probably do something stupid, but don't tell anyone from the university. None of the other Aurors know how I'm doing, when they come I pretend to be worse off. If Fudge learns of this he'll keep me here indefinitely after all, or worse." 

Tonks nodded gravely. "I understand."

"So how is everyone? Professor Dumbledore is still Headmaster, are Ron and Harry still with Charlie in Romania?"

"Albus is under heavy pressure from Fudge, but Fudge hasn't succeeded in removing him from his position as Headmaster. Perhaps he doesn't dare, not after what happened last time. The entire staff is still there. Severus may have to go if Fudge keeps up the pressure, but Albus has resisted so far. Ron, Harry, Mundungus, Charlie, Bill and Ginny are in Egypt now, with Angelina, Neville, Katie –quite a number of them. Fudge has named them –except for Harry of course, he can't quite go that far since Harry was the one who 'killed' Voldemort- as enemies of the state, they're to be arrested if they set foot on British soil again. Stirring up unrest and invoking riots, according to the charges."

Hermione cursed. 

Now Tonks' face was hard, and so was her voice. She continued. "He hasn't dared arrest anyone in Britain yet, but he targeted those who joined Charlie easily enough, calling it proof they were starting a terrorist movement against their own country. That's why they left Romania, Fudge has asked the Romanian Ministry of Magic to arrest and extradite them. The Egyptians are rather more sensible and won't listen to the Minister's requests. I am under heavy scrutiny, as is anyone else who ever supported Albus, which is one of the reasons it took us so long to get here. Fudge doesn't know yet Leroy is on our side, and I traded shifts to come here today. I sincerely hope that information will not reach the Minister."

"Are you sure Fudge isn't a Death Eater?" Hermione asked, frustrated. She'd asked the Headmaster the same thing years ago, and he'd been sure he wasn't, then, but it was almost impossible to believe otherwise. He couldn't set it up better for Voldemort if he did work for him.

"He's not, he is just a stupid fool and a lackey."

"Any idea when You-Know-Who will make his move?" she asked.

"We can't be sure. This summer's elections have been postponed again because of 'harmful elements which would interfere with a fair elective process', and as long as Fudge is in power it is in You-Know-Who's advantage to sit back and wait. We're expecting him to strike either soon before any elections that will actually take place, or immediately after, when whoever will replace Fudge has just taken over and is still new in the position."

"Which could be a while if Fudge doesn't allow the elections to go through. Doesn't anyone protest?"

"Not many people dare, most have families. They'd rather be safe than speak up and risking arrest or having to flee the country."

Hermione snorted. Part of her could understand, but another part of her thought it was a stupid attitude. Especially since she believed Harry and Professor Snape, and knew they wouldn't be safe at all. 

Meanwhile, Tonks was glancing at the Dementor. "When You-Know-Who does make his move…" she trailed off again. "Last time… we think… are you sure they aren't for You-Know-Who?"

Hermione felt her irritation flare. It wasn't that she hadn't worried of what would happen, but she disliked the way Tonks and so many others were afraid to speak about a problem. Just like that 'You-Know-Who' stuff, it wasn't as if a problem would go away if you didn't speak of it. "It's as I said, they aren't really for anyone," she said. "But it's likely they'll reach an agreement with Voldemort, as before."

'Twice now he let us feed on those who opposed him, he made sure there was enough for all of us and we didn't run into too much resistance. It was better then than now, more fresh thoughts to take. And if we don't, without Azkaban we'll have all wizards on either side against us. Most of us will agree to do as he asks if he gives us a place to live and minds to feed on,' the Dementor explained.

Tonks shifted uncomfortably as the Dementor sent to him. "Most?" she asked then. 

'We're not bees, we don't act as a damn hive. Everyone will make their own decision,' the Dementor sent irritably, then continued in a softer tone. 'But we're not that much different from those humans you just described, we put up with people we don't like if it gives us a safe place to live.'

"It would be best if there were a viable alternative for the Dementors, but I don't know how that could be done. Few enough people will let them live among them, and even less will allow them the feeding they need," Hermione said.

Tonks was taken aback by her comment. "Certainly no one would allow that!" she exclaimed.

"It can be done without causing damage," she replied quietly. 

Astonishment came off Tonks in waves, then an indignant rage. She veered up. "You mean, they have been doing that to you after all?"

"Tonks, please sit down. I'm fine, it's not a problem," Hermione reassured her. 

'Typical,' the Dementor sent to her only. 'She hates us as much as the others.'

'She's okay, she really is. Give her a chance,' Hermione sent back.

"When you said you were okay I thought they hadn't touched you," Tonks said in a more calm tone of voice, but she could still feel anger, concern and disgust coming off her. She did not sit back down either.

"They can take thoughts so it doesn't do any harm," she said. She didn't really blame Tonks for her reaction, she was under a lot of stress. But it was a perfect illustration of why she was afraid that the Dementors would not be offered an alternative outside of Azkaban or Voldemort. 

"The other prisoners?" Tonks asked. She glared at the Dementor, who had not moved.

"They hardly have a reason to be gentle with them. Humans hate Dementors, Dementors hate humans. I don't know whether even Professor Dumbledore will be able to convince enough people to make a difference for everyone." 

She received a mental snort from the Dementor. She knew he didn't like the Headmaster. 

'Dumbledore? He didn't allow us onto the castle grounds, left us out at the perimeter where we had nothing to feed on for the entire week's shift. Then he gathered hundreds of excited people outside, without giving us any kind of warning, and he gets livid when some of us couldn't stand it any longer and came in,' the Dementor sent, much like he had when she'd first mentioned the Headmaster, many months ago.

"He just doesn't know any better," she defended him, as she had done that time. "He's had a Werewolf, a half-Giant and an ex-Death Eater on staff, and he's paying one of his house-elves. Tonks, please try to talk to him, for what little good it will do." 

At other times, she had shown the relevant memories to the Dementor, but he was still sceptical. Tonks seemed to have enough trouble with the Dementors herself, hardly the best person to persuade the Headmaster. It really was a small chance, but they had to try. 

"I will tell him," Tonks promised reluctantly. "We can't stay much longer, if we don't get back on time the other Aurors will be suspicious. We will try to return when we can. I don't know how much we can smuggle in, but is there anything you need?"

Hermione looked around the bare cell and privately thought that was the most ironic question she'd ever been asked. But she did have a few things to ask. "A potion against the lice. A toothbrush, and a hairbrush. Salt, if possible some kind of other food supplements as well, we only get beans and some kind of horrible porridge here. I stopped caring about the flavour long ago but I know I have a salt deficiency and I doubt it has enough of just about everything else." She frowned. There were a thousand things she needed, but it would be hard enough to smuggle anything in. They couldn't shrink anything, even Aurors weren't allowed to take their wands when they came here, so there was no way to undo it. And they were limited to those things that she could hide from any other Aurors, too. "Fresh underwear," she said. That would not be visible, thank Merlin the Aurors never touched her. "A needle and thread so I can repair some of the tears in the less obvious places. That's it."

Tonks nodded grimly. "We'll do our best."

'If you can not come together, I can take the items from either of you if you lag behind on leaving,' the Dementor sent. Of course, the Aurors who came here never split up, but it would be possible to hang back a little.

Tonks started, astonished by the offer. "Yes, eh, that would be nice," she stammered. 

"Perhaps you can slip something in the supplies?" Hermione suggested. "If they're not double-checked?"

Leroy frowned. "I don't know who packs them, but I will find out."

"Thank you, thank you both," Hermione said as the two Aurors made ready to leave. Suddenly she remembered something. "Oh, what happened to Crookshanks?" 

"Tanya has taken him in. Ginny offered to take him, but Tanya blames herself at least partly for your situation and she wanted to do what she could. He's in good hands with her," Tonks told her. 

Hermione sighed in relief. She felt guilty for not asking after the Kneazle sooner, he'd been a faithful familiar. He'd almost caught that dirty rat of a Pettigrew all those years ago; if only she'd caught on to what he'd been trying to tell her, then none of this would have happened. Well, it didn't do to dwell on the past.

The Dementor left with the Aurors, leaving her door open, and she went to retrieve the blanket and bucket she'd hidden in the supply closet. Hopefully there'd be a few more items in her secret stash before too long.

The Dementor returned soon after, somewhat edgy.

'They weren't much better than the other Aurors,' he remarked.

'They just need time,' Hermione replied. She noticed she'd switched back to sending without a second thought. She picked at her hair with her fingers, she had purposefully left it tangled and mussed it before she'd known it'd be Tonks who would come.

'You didn't need time.'

'I hardly had a choice,' she pointed out. 'They'll turn out okay, really.'

She could hear the other Dementors down the hall as they fed on the new arrival and called for everyone to join in. She knew now that it was indeed standard for them to feed on new prisoners together. 

'Don't you want to go to the new one?' she asked.

'Not really. Your thoughts are better,' he replied.

It was a good thing Tonks wasn't around, no doubt she would have been shocked at the implied violation. Hermione no longer looked at the feeding like that. The two who disliked here were still rough and invasive, but when they went too far she blocked them and stopped them from taking what she didn't want them to take. The others were careful in how they treated her. 

She could feel the Dementor reach out and she searched for pleasant memories. She allowed him deeper into her mind than most, perhaps all, others, trusting he would do no damage.


	5. The Snow Feast

**5.  The Snow Feast.**

To her great relief, Tonks and Leroy came through with the things she needed most. Several weeks after their visit, the Dementor opened her cell after another new prisoner was delivered to the prison.

'The one called Leroy was here,' the Dementor sent. 'He delivered this.' 

He handed Hermione a small package wrapped in brown paper., and she let out a whoop of joy. She had hoped one of them would be able to come, but considering how long it had taken them to arrange their initial visit, she hadn't been sure if, and when, it would happen. Apparently it had been easier to arrange for one of them to come than for both of them to come together.

Feeling eager like a child at Christmas she opened the small parcel, taking care with the paper as she didn't have any of it either. She could use it to write on at some point in time. 

The parcel was carefully made up to include as much as possible, packed small. The first thing she saw was a pair of panties, plain cotton but sturdy and clean. They were wrapped around the other items: a small hairbrush, one of those travel toothbrushes that came with a plastic cover and was small enough to fit in the tiny package, a couple needles and a small spool of thread, a plastic bag with salt, and two potions bottles. Everything was there, albeit in small amounts.

The labels on the two bottles identified one as an anti-pest lotion, and the other as a vitamin and mineral supplement, both highly concentrated. She was pleased to recognize the neat handwriting of Professor Snape, while he was hardly pleasant he was definitely the best Potions Master she knew, better even than her Professor at the Wizard University. It was unusual for potions to be concentrated and diluted with water later, but if Professor Snape had brewed them, she knew she didn't have to worry about their effectiveness. 

Even though nowadays she always shielded her emotions to some extent, the Dementor was well aware of her happiness. Of course in a way, it was sad it took so little to make her happy. Few people outside would ever think twice about any of these items. But she absolutely refused to let this bring her down. With a broad grin, she invited the Dementor to share in her joy, then grabbed the anti-pest potion and went out. The sooner she got rid of the lice and mites the better. 

She mixed the potion in a bowl she had retrieved from the kitchen, carefully measuring the correct concentrations to treat her mattress. She didn't have anything to spray it with but she wiped it on using one of the rags. Then she went in search of an empty shower stall.

Since it was much later than her usual bathroom visits, she had to try a few different places before finding one that was free. She met several Dementors, some leading prisoners to and from the washing facilities. One of the reasons she did not usually go out at this time of the day. It was hardly a pleasant sight to see the emaciated prisoners in their rags, eyes staring and haunted. Those who were still sane were no more pleasant to meet; slightly cleaner, their clothes in slightly better state, they looked at her with a mixture of shock, horror and confusion. She never spoke to any of them, ignoring those who called out to her, but she still rather avoided them altogether. 

Finally she found a free shower. She washed herself, her clothes and her blankets with the potion, knowing that if she skipped anything she risked re-infection. She also snatched one of the towels for her own private use. She wrung her clothes dry as well as she could, then went to the kitchen to dry by the fire. The cold hardly bothered her anymore, but walking around in clammy clothing was still a stretch.

She slept well that night and when she woke up the next morning she felt better than she had in a long time. It didn't surprise her that her skin had cleared up completely, magical potions always worked quickly. She imagined she felt better overall, too, although the food supplement would take a little longer to replenish all the vitamins and minerals her body lacked.

She showered and went to the office as it was time to send the weekly report. The Dementor wasn't there yet, but he came in soon after. As always, he told her what was needed and she wrote the note to the Aurors. On occasion there would still be items missing, with the excuse the note had been unclear. They were sure it was on purpose now that Hermione made sure the reports were legible, but they couldn't complain without giving her situation away. At least it didn't happen as often anymore as when there were real unreadable entries on the report.

Afterwards, she went with the Dementor to his quarters. Now that her own skin was clean, she noticed the sores and scabs on his all the more.

'That isn't natural, is it?' she asked. The impressions she'd got from the older stories and legends never included anything like it. The stories held a different kind of description than the stories of sighted people would, and they always included sensations of touch. There was a chilly, scaly feel, and scars in the more violent ones, but never sores and scabs.

'It's the damp and muggy conditions here,' he replied. 'It clears up in a colder climate. Actually, mine haven't been as bad as they were.'

The side effects of their sharing had gone both ways, where she could stand the cold better, he had less trouble with what, to him, was the warm temperature in the prison. She had wondered if he had received anything else from her as well, any of her magic, but he deemed that rather unlikely. The sharing for the teaching was mostly one-way, and it mainly enhanced abilities that already existed. She had countered no Dementor ever tested using a wand, or was even allowed to use one, and they were magical by many standards, but they'd soon stopped discussing it, there was no way to find out. She went back to the topic of his skin. 

'I'm sure it would be possible to find a potion against it. If only I had the resources to work on it,' she sighed. She felt truly frustrated. She'd always been inclined to tackle any problem she came across, and even when she was still at Hogwarts she had often been successful, making up with sheer determination what she lacked in experience. Now, almost finished with her studies at Leeds, she should be able to do much better. Yet she was stuck here, unable to do anything and losing her skills for lack of practice.

'You have too much control over your mind to lose your skills,' the Dementor told her.

She snorted. It showed just how frustrated she was, letting those last thoughts come through without meaning to send them. 'Some control.'

'Don't be hard on yourself,' he replied. 'I meant that. I don't think you forgot much before coming here and you certainly don't now.'

He had his mental shields down, as he often did when they spoke, so she could feel he was sincere, and she smiled. 'Thank you.'

It was too good a day to let herself be upset for long. Although she would give it some thought, she could come up with some things to try, so she'd have a place to start when she got out of here.

It didn't take her long to come up with several possibilities, and she regretted not being able to put her theories to test. She couldn't ask for outside help either, it was hard enough to contact anyone at all. Professor Snape was hardly the most open-minded person she knew, it would be difficult to convince him to help the Dementors. On the opposite side of the spectrum, Professor LeRoi, her teacher at Leeds, was so open-minded she didn't dare trust him with the secret of her situation here. She stored the information away and carried on. 

Not much later she was down in the lower levels with the Dementor when one of the others came rushing in. 

'It's snowing!' the new arrival broadcasted, excitedly. 

Hermione knew the Dementors had all been waiting for the first snow, the Dementor had mentioned several times that the snow was extremely late this year, but she hadn't understood the full significance of the first snow to him or any of the others. Now, she could feel the excitement in him and she was puzzled. Even after a year, she didn't know everything about the Dementor's culture.

'What is so special about the first snow?' she asked, as waves of exhilaration came from all around her.

'Traditionally, the first snow marks the beginning of the new year,' the Dementor explained. 'We've long since set a more definite date, even before we came down from the north there would be great local differences, but the first snow is still celebrated. It is the real start of the winter, the real start of the new cycle, the new year. There will be a celebration tomorrow.'

Hermione was struck again by the opposites between the Dementors and the humans. For humans, winter stood for a time of darkness and death, with spring being the time of new life. It wasn't a great surprise even those whom the Dementors didn't feed on would see them as cold, dark and scary creatures. 

'Come outside with me tomorrow, if you wear one of our robes no one will know,' the Dementor suggested. 

'Outside?' Hermione asked. That did take her by surprise.

'Only on the island, and it isn't much, but it wouldn't do to celebrate the Snow Feast inside. The Aurors never come; they only showed up the first time when we were here at Azkaban. I don't remember all the details, I was only five at the time, but our gathering scared them badly. They demanded to know what we were doing, tried to tell us to go inside, but they were too afraid to do anything. They haven't come since then, although I suspect they watch us from a distance. If you keep your hood up and stay close to me, they won't be able to tell you aren't one of us.'

'I'd love to come,' Hermione replied. The Dementor didn't feel nervous about it, and it fit what she knew of the Aurors, they would worry only about keeping an eye on the general happening, not pay close attention to any particular Dementor. It would be wonderful to go outside, and she was also curious as to the nature of the Snow Feast. The excitement from the Dementor and the others around her was contagious, and she could hardly wait for tomorrow.

The next morning, Hermione was up early. She took her shower and unlike most days, Azkaban was already buzzing with activity. The Dementors were feeding, taking prisoners to their showers and finally handed out the food well before the usual hour. 

Hermione had grabbed a bite to eat in the kitchen so she would be ready when the Dementor came to pick her up. Mindful of the snow, she put on her shoes. She'd decided to save them for emergencies some months ago when, after the sharing, she no longer needed them to protect herself against the cold stone floor, and she'd realised there would be no way to replace them when they wore out. But she didn't think she could stand the snow barefoot, even now. 

The Dementor brought a large robe, long enough that it dragged the ground. Almost all the Dementors were taller than she was, but it was a good thing for the robe would hide her shoes and would smudge her tracks. Some of the others would swoop low enough to make some smudges in the snow, too. She pulled the hood up and followed the Dementor outside. 

It was no longer snowing, but there was a good layer on the ground and the sky was grey, promising more snow later on.

For the first time since her arrival, she saw Azkaban from the outside. Most of the prison was underground, and the weathered stone building that was showing above ground belied its actual size. It looked almost more depressive and forlorn than imposing and intimidating, which fit its current situation with the Dementors quite well, but which still surprised Hermione. Hadn't Azkaban been in use for centuries before the Dementors took over as guards? She'd think with human guards the people who built it would have gone for a more impressive look. 

But perhaps the island itself made up for that. It was all rock, huge boulders dotting its surface, steep slopes dropping down to the sea along the shore. Hermione doubted there would be any vegetation at all hidden underneath the snow, which did little to soften the harshness of the surroundings. 

Every last one of the Dementors came outside. As usual, they were silent except for their rattling breathing. The only other sound was the screaming of the gulls and gannets as they whirled overhead, annoyed at the rare disturbance of their nesting grounds. Hermione could understand the Aurors would have been scared, faced with hundreds silent, black-robed figures. 

She, of course, could pick up the true mood of the Dementors. More so even than the previous evening, the excitement flooded all around her. The three boys rushed ahead of everyone else, rolling in the snow wherever there was a spot big enough in between the jagged rocks.

She remained close to the Dementor, and away from the edges of the crowd, just in case the Aurors would show up. But there was no sign of the small boat they used for transport to and from the island. The anti-Apparition wards extended well beyond the coastline. 

For some time, the Dementors milled and spoke among each other, not unlike people did at other parties Hermione had been to. Then a silence fell in the mental hubbub. Even the excitement and anticipation lessened, not gone but shielded, and Hermione followed suit, shielding her thoughts so as not to interfere with whatever was coming.

No one physically stepped forward or mounted any stage, but when Hermione caught the first sending she knew it would be a story or performance of some kind. One of the elder Dementors started to broadcast so that everyone could pick it up.

The basic tale was simple. It was a tale of the seasons, as fit the occasion. Similar and yet completely opposite to the stories humans told during their rituals and seasonal celebrations. 

It started in winter, in a place much colder than the island of Azkaban. The Dementors lived in a small group, savouring the unspoiled surroundings and the favorable weather. Small bands of humans were easy prey and the Dementors needed little, less even than here, for conditions were almost perfect. There was no visual imagery, no visuals of the humans' dress or housing, but Hermione got the impression the story was very old, from a time no human records existed. 

Then the temperatures rose, the sun melted the snow, and larger and more aggressive bands of humans arrived. While the Dementors needed more energy to keep their bodies cool, it was more difficult to feed. Sometimes the humans would chase the Dementors off with strange Patroni, the shapes of which weren't included in the images but which felt so real Hermione had to remind herself she was no Dementor and they could not hurt her even if it hadn't been a story. And when the Dementors struck back at the people too hard, the people would flee and there was nothing for the Dementors to take. Far more than in winter, it was a conflict that, instead of achieving balance, grew worse as time passed. 

Only the weather brought a solution; fall came and with it the stronger bands of humans left, only a few remaining who were not strong enough to chase the Dementors away. The Dementors, in turn, needed less, and never took so much they killed or seriously injured the people. The first snow was greeted as the hard times were once again in the past.

None of this did the story justice, of course. Dementor language allowed for even a simple story to have more than just words. Any story or even a conversation included mental images of emotions, sound, smell and occasionally touch. But this time the sending was strong, and although the elder Dementor sent the main story line, others joined in. The storytellers' sending blend together to follow a whole, as if you saw the story not just through the eyes of one person but through the eyes of the entire group.

Hermione had once tried Muggle virtual reality goggles, where images and sounds were projected in a 3D environment, and that came closer than anything else she could compare this to, but without the bulky equipment and appearing much more real.

When the Dementors finished the sending, the others let down their shields. There was no applause or cheering –none was needed as the Dementors could let the storytellers feel directly how their story was received. Hermione followed their lead again, unblocking her own emotions.

She felt the probing of the Dementor, his way of asking how she had liked the story. He could easily feel her emotions, but her human habits felt the need to say something. 

'It was wonderful,' she sent. 'I've never felt anything like it.'

'I'm glad you liked it,' the Dementor replied. She could feel pleasure and relief. He'd hidden any worry she wouldn't like it, but his reaction told her it must've been there. 

'Almost overwhelming, it was so real. Thank you for letting me see it,' she added.

'My pleasure,' he replied.

'What happens now?' she asked, as the rest of the Dementors started to mingle and talk among each other again. 

'Nothing much,' he replied. 'If there were any children who were coming of age there would be a ceremony, but that will be two years yet.'

They took a short tour around the island, never completely leaving the protection of the crowd in case anyone was watching. Then they sat down against a boulder, watching and listening to the surf crashing on the rock and the gulls screaming overhead. 

Hermione was glad of the heavy robe and her own cold tolerance, but after a while she still got chilled. She sat down close to the Dementor, his cool energy warmer than the cold stone. They sat there for a long time, alternately talking and silently listening to the gulls. It started to snow again. One by one the Dementors went back inside, until they knew it was time to go as well, before she would stand out to anyone who might be watching. 

Taking care to avoid the fresh snow where she would leave shoe prints among the smudges of the Dementors' robes and making sure her own robe wiped out any tracks she still left, Hermione went back inside with the Dementor. 

'I would like you to come with me and remain with us. You can have a room that is larger and more comfortable there, and after today the others will not mind,' the Dementor said as they entered the building.

'Thank you,' Hermione accepted his offer immediately. She didn't have to consider, she trusted his judgment and she had felt no hostility to her presence at the Snow Feast. It had taken a full year, but almost all the Dementors had accepted her. Even those who didn't like her had finally given up their protest and now only avoided her. 

She didn't go back to her cell much after that. She returned to the upper levels only for her daily walk, the weekly report, and when the Aurors came. The lower levels were colder but that did not bother her, she had spent quite a lot of her time in the Dementors quarters even before the Snow Feast. Her room was about twice the size of her cell, the bed was not quite as narrow as her cot had been, and the screaming of the other prisoners did not penetrate down here. 

A/N: Thanks to anyone who reviewed! Thanks especially to Lady S and Leaena Draconis, originality is a *very* great compliment. It's extremely hard to achieve considering there are well over 122,000 Harry Potter fics posted, but I will do my best not to disappoint!


	6. The second and third year

**6.  The second and third year.**

She used the wrapping paper of her parcel to write a brief note to Tonks, thanking her for her package and sending her her new requests. Paper, first of all. She instructed her to find the thin paper Muggles used for their airmail, rather than the bulky parchment common to the Wizarding world. She could use a quill and ink from the office, but the Aurors would likely notice the parchment missing. Stingy as they were, it was delivered in small stacks of ten sheets only. 

She also requested for any information on Animagus training. She didn't need it to survive Azkaban, like Sirius had, but she thought she might need it afterwards. She couldn't hide her mental state for ever after she would be released, and Fudge would not be happy when he found out. Also, it was a form of wandless magic, meaning it was one of the few things she could do here, and she longed to work on something new.

The Dementor slipped the paper to Leroy the next time he came, which was a good two months after the Snow Feast, and the reply came three months after that. 

The paper was included, folded small but enough to last her, as infrequent as their correspondence had to be. There was a primer on Animagus training, not an entire book by a long shot, but a summary of the first exercises. There also was a letter from Professor Dumbledore, asking her to speak to the Dementors and find out what it would take were they not to join Voldemort. The letter was carefully worded and Hermione knew the Headmaster wasn't altogether comfortable with the idea of working with the Dementors, but it was a start. 

Hermione started to work on the Animagus training and found it much easier than she had expected. It consisted mainly of mental disciplines, to remain in control when the instincts and mental processes of the animal body would otherwise take over. With the Dementor's abilities she now had she only had to read through the instructions once, then simply did whatever it said. She regretted not being able to go further, but there had not been enough room in the package for all the information and there had been a very, very stern note as well, warning her not to try an actual transformation without anyone with a wand present. No matter how easy it all seemed, that was a sensible precaution –she could not know for sure she'd be able to use her full mental abilities once she transformed, and there would be no one to help her here.

She spoke at length with the Dementors, with the one and with others who were not too adverse against a better relationship with some of the humans. Yet when it came to writing the Headmaster she was caught in a dilemma. She wanted to tell Dumbledore in more detail about the Dementors and their culture, but she was well aware of the risk if the letter were to be intercepted. That would definitely be the end for her, and it could easily cause serious trouble for the Dementors as well. 

Finally, in early fall, one of the Dementors solved the problem. It was rare for any of them to leave Azkaban. They might not be prisoners, they certainly were not welcome anywhere else in the Wizarding world, so there was nowhere else for them to go. There was little contact between those who lived abroad and the Azkaban guards, since travel through the Wizarding world was discouraged by the Ministry as well. Yet this time, a Dementor Hermione had little contact with planned to spend the Snow Feast in Russia for the coming of age of her youngest brother. She readily agreed to carry a letter and ensure it reached Professor Dumbledore. The Aurors always demanded to know where any of the Dementors were going and where they had been, but they did not search them. Likely they couldn't conceive the idea of one of them carrying anything for one of the prisoners. 

The Dementor took the letter and returned a couple weeks later with a reply, and with several new items. Even a Dementor couldn't carry a bulky package into Azkaban without raising suspicion, but there were several essentials; more food supplement, a Muggle pen, toothpaste, more instructions for Animagus training, and a set of clothing the Dementor wore underneath her robes. Black, so it wasn't too obvious, but not worn like Hermione's old ones.

Dumbledore's reaction was more favorable than Hermione had previously thought. His greatest worry seemed to be not the Dementors but the reactions of the rest of the Wizarding world. Too many wizards would not look favorably upon contact with the Dementors, especially not at a school. It would be just the excuse Fudge would need to take Hogwarts from him. Yet the Headmaster wanted to prevent the Dementors from joining with Voldemort, indicating he would be willing to provide a place to stay and people to feed on if he got enough time to arrange those two things. 

-0-

Their own Snow Feast came later, of course, but early for their area. It was the first week of November when the first snow fell, and like last year, the Dementor took her outside for the celebration. 

The ritual story was at least as impressive as it had been last year, perhaps even more so. Last year there'd been the shock of the strong, almost overwhelming sending, but this year, now she was prepared as well as even more fluent in the Dementors' language, she could appreciate more of the detail. Every smell, sound and feeling was included in the telling, as if one were truly there. 

When the story was done, they found a quiet place and sat down like the previous year, enjoying the fresh snow, the sun which had come through, the crashing of the surf and the screaming gulls.

They sat there for a long time, longer perhaps than was safe, but the Aurors did not show up. Like last year, Hermione got chilled after a few hours, but she sat close to the Dementor and she drew her feet up under the long robes. Finally, when almost everyone had gone back to the prison, she knew they couldn't wait any longer. Reluctantly, she went inside for another year.

'A year from now you'll be free,' the Dementor sent.

Of course she had though of that, but he was well aware of the fact that she didn't see herself leave Azkaban alone. Until now, they'd taken it slow. The other Dementors had been accepting when she'd moved down to live with them, staying in her own room instead of the cell upstairs. That had been a year ago and by now Hermione had become a part of their group. She was free to go where she liked, within the confines of the building, and no one questioned her presence among them, or her actions. 

Nor was anyone shocked to see them together anymore, and few would be if they took it any further. They already had, as far as they could since he was mostly energy, but to the Dementors that was not the final step. The Sharing was what sealed a relationship. When he'd used the other kind of sharing to teach her, it'd only been accepted because that was all it was, but she did not worry about the reaction of the others now.

Yet there was still the outside world. Neither the people nor the Dementors who lived abroad would have such a long time to get used to them, and wherever they'd chose to live, it wouldn't be easy if they were together. Well, so be it.

'We'll make it work.' She showed her full conviction and determination. She didn't have to ask whether he wanted to, but she could feel his concern for her and the consequences of their actions. 

'It can never be undone,' he sent. Of course she knew that, but it had to be said.

'I know,' she replied. 'I'm sure.' She made no attempt to shield her thoughts, and he could not possibly miss her feelings. 

'Then we will Share.'

There was no ceremony, like a wedding or hand-fastening. It was just between the two of them. He took her in his arms. It was akin to the sharing for the teaching, but it was much deeper and much more intimate. Part of her was torn lose, and in its stead she could feel his essence settle deep inside her. Of course only he could initiate the Sharing, her learned abilities didn't go that far. When two Dementors shared, they would both perform the exchange, and take it further yet. But he was a part of her now, and she was a part of him.

There was nothing to compare it to in her experiences beforehand. She'd been close to people, to her family and her friends in school and in the University. This went deeper. In spite of the cold, she felt a warmth of  belonging and love. She was always aware of him, and she could read his emotions even when he was on the other side of the building. He had told her it would be less when they were a greater distance apart, to where it would feel like an emptiness, uncomfortable to be too far apart for an extended period of time. Here, of course, that was never an issue.

-0-

The last year passed while little remarkable happened. New prisoners still arrived every few weeks, and only one, a panhandler who'd never seriously hurt anyone, was released after a sentence of five years. Hermione had seen the man several times but she knew she wouldn't have to worry about him giving her away; he was too far gone. 

Contact with the outside world was increasingly difficult. Tonks never returned, and Leroy only came twice in the entire year. The last time was in early fall, and he carried a note ensuring her she could stay at Hogwarts when she was released. They'd keep the pretense of her madness even after her release, so the details about the Dementors wouldn't come out immediately. 

The Headmaster also agreed to meet with some of the Dementors, although not while school was in session. Regardless of whether he trusted the Dementors among the students, there was the matter of the students learning they were there. Hermione knew all too well some would always poke their noses into forbidden places and if the Dementors were found at Hogwarts, Fudge would undoubtedly jump at the opportunity to have Dumbledore removed from his position as Headmaster.

Hermione tutored several of the Dementors in writing legibly, and as she'd expected they didn't take long to learn. The notes Professor McGonagall had sent about Animagus training had said nothing about how to chose one's Animagus form, and she couldn't be sure she would be able to return at will. 

-0-

To her delight, the first snow came early again, early enough that she was still at Azkaban. But her delight was nothing compared to that of the oldest boy, who had turned twelve this year and would now be celebrating his coming of age. 

Long before, when he was just starting to prepare, he had asked her to participate in the ceremony. No human had ever taken part and that it would've been unthinkable a couple years ago did nothing to diminish his excitement at having such a first. She'd been hesitant, unsure she would be able to do what was required. The twelve participants would hold a mental tug-of-war with the boy so he could show his skills. But it wasn't a true fight, not anymore, and she was pleased he'd asked her. 

So after the storytelling she took up a place with the others –the boy's uncle, the elder who every year took the lead in the sending of the story, and more of the boy's friends and relatives. They gathered, forming a small group in the middle of the crowd, who formed a circle around them.

Before they started, she'd felt the boys slight nervousness, but now he had his thoughts under tight control and she felt nothing from him. She put her own shields up, as strong as she could make them.

She still couldn't actively probe into his mind and she could not take thoughts or feelings away. But the others could, and did. 

The boy took them on one by one, first, pushing and probing until one broke through the shield of the other. Of course he broke through her block, but it wasn't without effort, and as she felt him enter her mind she felt a flash of respect before he strengthened his own shields, pulled back and moved on to the next person.

When he'd taken everyone on, holding out long even against the elder, they all joined in. It was strange to see, as they all stood still, unmoving in spite of the obvious effort. The other Dementors would try to penetrate the boy's shields while he shook off every attempt as quickly as a good Chaser would on the Quidditch pitch, and tried to break through their own blocks. 

He broke through her shield and she stepped back. Three others joined her before he couldn't hold any longer and his own barriers broke under the onslaught. Hermione had nothing to compare his performance with, but the spectators, who'd shielded their own minds so as not to interfere or distract, now let down their shield and cheered.

After the initial round of mental applause, the crowd grew silent for the sending of the elder. In the language of the Dementors, the image of the young boy among the adults blended with a feeling of pride. 

When the elder finished sending, Hermione congratulated the boy, truly happy she had been able to be here and be a part of his ceremony.

Afterwards she got together with her partner, and they sat as long as the previous year, not knowing when the next opportunity would come to be outside with just the snow and each other. If all went well, it would be at Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday, less than a month from now, but it all depended on how close they would be watched. They couldn't let Fudge and the Aurors find out about anything that had taken place here, not until they'd reached a workable agreement with Dumbledore and found a solution that wouldn't harm the Headmaster or the school.


	7. Free at last

**7. Free at last.**

Two weeks later she made the final preparations for her departure. She put on her old dress, making sure none of the repairs were visible. She hadn't bathed for a few days, or combed her hair, and she carefully mussed her bushy hair until it looked properly matted. She wasn't as thin as most prisoners were after several years in Azkaban, thanks to Professor Snape's supplements, but the food had been all but tasty and she had lost enough weight, she didn't think the Aurors would notice how strong she was. There was the problem of her inner coldness and her lower body temperature, but the Dementor would remain close as long as he could and she'd try to avoid direct skin contact. Fortunately she had been imprisoned in winter, her dress had long sleeves and was made of a pretty thick material. 

They'd said their goodbyes earlier that morning, in private, but of course the Dementor was the one to hand her over to the Aurors. 

'Watch the young one,' he cautioned her as they entered the small room where the prisoners entered and, occasionally, left. 

She thought she recognized him, a Ravenclaw who'd been four or five years ahead of her. He was one of those who would make their rounds through the prison, too, when he came here. She could feel his contempt for her and the Dementors effortlessly, and she hated to think what he might do if he knew even half their secrets. The other Auror was somewhat older, she'd never seen him before, and she felt mostly pity from him.

'I'll be careful,' she promised.

"Come on, Miss," the youngest Auror said as he took her arm and, rather roughly, hauled her along. "You're free, if you still know what that means."

The Dementor flashed anger, and she sent back an image of reassurance, she'd be fine but she'd miss him. The mental language was better suited to convey the complete message in the short time left to them. 

Acting docile and withdrawn, she followed the Aurors out of the prison and onto the small boat, then sat where they pointed, muttering in herself. She'd seen enough of those who'd truly lost their minds to know how to put on a convincing act.

It took about twenty minutes to reach the coast. The presence of the Dementor slowly faded as the distance increased, but even as the Aurors tied off at a small dock she thought she could send to him if she were to try. 

There was a small cottage here that was always manned by a few Aurors who watched the wards and kept an eye on the rare coming and goings of the Dementors. Hermione paid it no attention until the Aurors led her directly towards it. She acted hesitant as they led her inside, but not overtly so.

They entered what was clearly a kind of waiting room, a small room with nothing but some seats and a low table just off the main entrance. Madam Pomfrey veered up, shock on her face as she saw Hermione. Professor Snape looked blank. They both would know she was not mad, but she still felt concern, even from Professor Snape, hidden underneath a layer of anger and irritation. Concern from Professor Snape! If she hadn't  had such tight control of herself, she would have smiled. 

"Hermione, oh, Hermione," Madam Pomfrey said, and Hermione could feel her dismay. She was sincerely worried. Well, it had been some time since she had last been able to contact Hogwarts and she had taken care to look properly crazy and unkempt. She didn't dare reassure the school nurse, even by sending to her privately, for she was afraid of her reaction to that.

"Here's your precious star student," the younger Auror sneered. "If you find she isn't quite as smart as she was before, you can always take her to St. Mungo's. They have plenty of experience."

"I'd say she can still brew a better potion than you managed on your finals," Professor Snape remarked acidly. The Auror flinched and Hermione wished she could take a look at that particular memory. 

"Let it be, Xander," the older one said, then turned to Professor Snape. "You have the Portkey?"

Professor Snape held up an old book, very appropriate Hermione thought.

"You better watch her," the older Auror continued. "She's been pretty docile but they sometimes go wild when they are ported, the orderlies from St. Mungo's tell us."

"I am sure we can handle her," Professor Snape ensured him.

With a shrug, the Auror pulled her forward and Madam Pomfrey took her hand. She felt a shock as the school nurse noticed her coldness, but Professor Snape wasted no more time and activated the Portkey as soon as they all touched it.

For just a moment, she was distracted. Portkeys were never her favorite method of travel –she preferred to Apparate any time- and there was also the sudden change in her mind as she realized she could no longer feel the Dementor at all. But she recovered immediately.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," she said, responding to the feelings of Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape.

"Hermione, you're freezing!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed. 

She laughed, relieved at being here and being back with people who cared. "It's okay, really. I'm not cold, please don't worry."

Madam Pomfrey looked doubtful. 

"I wasn't concerned," Professor Snape lied. He'd definitely hate it when he learned she could read his emotions, no matter how good he was at hiding them! 

"We'll take you to the infirmary," Madam Pomfrey said. She hesitated again. "I would offer you chocolate but if you indeed took on some part of the Dementors, I'm not sure. Would you like some?"

Hermione hadn't even thought of chocolate, but the idea held no appeal to her at all. Which probably meant it was better not to try it, she'd loved chocolate for any reason, before the Sharing. "I guess I shouldn't," she said. "But thank you." 

Madam Pomfrey nodded, then opened the large front doors. 

"It would be good if some of the students saw me come in," Hermione suggested. They would keep up the ruse she was insane, at least for a while, and the students would spread the word as well as anyone. 

"My third year Slytherin/Gryffindor class is somewhere roaming the school at the moment, I'd be surprised if some of them weren't watching the infirmary trying to satisfy their unhealthy curiosity," Professor Snape remarked dryly. 

Hermione nodded, then allowed herself to be led inside, once again looking vacant, startling at any sudden noise and stumbling over the moving stairs.

And indeed, they met a few students. First a pair of Slytherins who stepped aside but didn't conceal their curious stares, then a trio of Gryffindors who quickly took off when Professor Snape glared at them. 

In the infirmary Madam Pomfrey took her into the back, where a tiny room had been prepared. It was small, but held a fireplace. They had barely entered when Professor Dumbledore came in after them.

"Hermione!" He, too, felt somewhat worried, but that quickly changed to relief when she straightened as she turned towards him.

"Professor Dumbledore! Thank you for letting me come to Hogwarts."

"My only regret is that I could not help you sooner."

Hermione snorted. "Fudge would never have released me any quicker."

Professor Dumbledore nodded gravely. Of course Tonks had told him what the three years meant to most. "Anything you need, we will do our best to help now that you are here."

"First of all a bath would be great, and some clean clothes," Hermione said. "Then food –anything as long as it isn't beans or rice or porridge. And I must let my parents know I'm okay."

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "As far as anyone knows, you are staying here in this private room, but the fireplace is connected to the guest quarters on the third floor. Floo from this fireplace or mine is the only way in, so there won't be any curious students who will see you enter or leave. There's a private bathroom and the house-elves have put fresh clothes and other basic needs in the room. I will instruct them to bring you food up there when you are done. Minerva will bring your parents to Hogwarts after lunch."

"Thank you so much," Hermione said. That would cover her immediate needs.

"Anything else?" the Headmaster asked. 

She thought for a moment. "Is there a wand I can use? I can't go to Ollivander's."

"I will bring a few old wands we keep for emergencies, you can pick the one that suits you best," the Headmaster promised. "And we will arrange to get you a wand of your own soon." 

"I would still like to do a check-up when you are done eating," Madam Pomfrey put in. "You're awfully thin." 

While Hermione felt fine, she didn't protest. Azkaban was far from a healthy place, even the past two years. "I'll return here as soon as I've finished."

They left her to herself and she Floo'd to her rooms. She soaked in the luxurious bath, almost as large as the Prefects' bath she remembered from her school years. Then she ate, trying to keep from over-eating on the fabulous meal the house-elves had prepared. Finally she returned to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey entered immediately.

"You're looking much better." She reached out to feel her hands. "But you're still cold as ice, aren't you freezing?"

Hermione shook her head. "That's part of what the Dementor shared with me. He exchanged part of himself with me, first only to teach me how to block those who would from feeding too deeply on my thoughts, later…" She hesitated. "More of everything. We're a couple."

Madam Pomfrey started, but Hermione was glad she did not feel the disgust or horror she'd feared. Shocked concern though, yes. "With a Dementor? He didn't force you, did he?"

"No," Hermione reassured her. "That is one thing that never happens in Azkaban. Before me, no one would've thought of a human that way, most still wouldn't."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips as she nodded. "Well, if you are absolutely sure the cold does not affect you. Are there any other effects?"

Hermione explained her empathic abilities the best she could. She had to stop and think sometimes, she was so used to simply showing anything in her mind instead of using words to describe it. She could feel puzzlement and intrigue in the school nurse as she explained and illustrated by using her sending instead of speaking aloud.

Hermione felt her voice starting to go, she'd practiced a little by speaking aloud the past few days, but her voice still wasn't up to this much use. Madam Pomfrey handed her a potion to ease her sore throat, and agreed to switch to sending entirely, although it made her a little uneasy.

Finally, Madam Pomfrey was satisfied that Hermione was basically in good health. Somewhat out of shape, in spite of her daily walks through the prison, but she'd expected that. It'd hardly been the equivalent of a nice, long walk through the countryside. 

Soon after Madam Pomfrey was done, Professor McGonagall entered, followed by her parents. Hermione shot up. They hugged her and of course started at her cold skin, too.

"It's nothing to worry about, I'll explain later," she said. "Mom, dad, I missed you so much!" She hugged them again, and thanked Professor McGonagall for bringing them here to Hogwarts. She hadn't seen them but twice a year or so while she'd been at the university, living in an apartment with several classmates over summer, but she'd written frequently and she'd always known they were there. 

"We would've been here sooner, but Professor Dumbledore insisted we wait until you had bathed," her mother said.

Hermione nodded. Of course her parents knew they would have to act as if she were crazy, too, but there was no need to make them see her like that. "I looked pretty bad when I came in," she said. "But it's all a ruse for the Aurors, I'm fine."

"Those Dementors sound terrible, they really didn't hurt you?" her mother asked anxiously. 

"No," Hermione replied simply. Perhaps some day she'd tell about her arrival, or those who disliked her, but that was so long ago it didn't matter now. "I lived with them for most of the time, they hate humans but among themselves they aren't so different from us."

Her parents weren't completely reassured, but as they saw she looked fine they were slowly getting more at ease. Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall excused themselves, leaving them alone.

Hermione told them as much as she could. She left out the worst parts, the confrontations with those who didn't like her, her initial struggle with the cold and the terrible hygiene, and the details of how the other prisoners were treated. She told them about the Dementors, showing her parents the sending she'd learned, and their language. Finally, she told them about her relationship with the one who was now her lover and her partner.

She held her breath as she waited for their reaction. Her parents had been the ones to teach her to treat everyone equally, to not judge someone by their race or appearance. But black or white, those had all been human, the Dementor was an energy creature they wouldn't even be able to see. 

Her parents were silent for a few moments as they grasped the meaning of what she'd said, then her father asked the same question Madam Pomfrey had asked earlier. Fortunately, she could answer that question satisfactory. She still felt some apprehension from both of them, but she knew it could be overcome. 

Finally, her parents told her about themselves, their family and the Muggle world. They stayed until dinner and ate with her in her guest quarters, after a dizzying first experience with the Floo system. Hermione didn't eat much, still full from the exquisite lunch and used to eating only one meal a day, but the food still tasted wonderful. After dinner her parents left. Professor McGonagall led them out and, as agreed, they acted distraught and upset. Hermione had to admit they weren't very good actors, but Professor McGonagall made sure there was little contact with the students and there were no other empaths around.

That evening Professor Dumbledore Floo'd in and asked her to come over to his office. There she found most of the Hogwarts senior staff –Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, and Madam Pomfrey. 

Once again, she told most everything. In spite of the potion Madam Pomfrey had given her, her voice gave out again after the long talk with her parents, and she sent instead. This time she did not leave anything out, preferring to be honest about the difficult start, the ones who were less than happy with her, and the treatment of the other prisoners. But there were more good parts, the way the Dementors had been careful what they took from her, had taught her their language, and finally accepted her in their midst. 

She did not block any of the emotions she felt in response to her tale, although it was a little loud to be with six people who did little to block their feelings. Professor Snape kept his face impassionate, as he usually did when he wasn't scowling, but she could not possibly miss his uneasiness. He'd been closer to Azkaban than the others, and still was as long as Fudge was the Minister of Magic. And there was the concern she'd felt that afternoon. Yet it still surprised her when he was the one to ask her the same question Madam Pomfrey and her father had asked. She wondered if he was changing or if he'd always cared more than he let on.

Apart from that one time, no one asked her any questions until she was done sending. Then they did, inquiring after the Dementors mostly, but also after her Dementor abilities. Hermione answered as well as she could, but some questions were better asked of the Dementors themselves when they would come here during Christmas break. Eventually there was nothing left to tell, and she was exhausted, too. She returned to her quarters and had no trouble falling asleep.

-0-

The next day, Friday, she could not leave the guest room or the infirmary, and the Professors all had their classes to teach, but Professor McGonagall dug up a wand for her and she practiced some spells. It was like riding a bicycle, once you knew you never forgot how, but it still felt wonderful to do magic again.

She also asked for some books from the library and Madam Pomfrey made sure she got them. She researched a few things for the skin care potion she wanted to brew for the Dementors and was satisfied to find her ideas seemed to fit with the information in the books exactly. 

After classes were over, she sent a message to Professor Snape, asking him to permission to use the lab and explaining what she needed it for. She hadn't expected to get his permission without further ado, but he sent her a message telling her she could use the lab after the students' curfew, and to Floo from the infirmary directly to his office. 

She did just that, stepping out of his fireplace at the appointed time. Professor Snape was working at his desk, but got up as she entered. 

"I am sure you can find what you need," he said tersely. "If you need me, I will be in the staff room."

He felt uneasy still, underneath the irritation he showed openly. 

"I don't want to keep you from your own work," Hermione said.

"You don't, I have some other things I must see to. I trust you are capable of brewing a potion without my help," Professor Snape replied. 

She nodded, and although she knew he was not speaking the truth she did not mention it. Even so, he stopped and turned as he almost made his way out.

"Oh, hell, you can tell anyhow. I don't particularly want to be around anyone I can't block from my mind. Write down what you use so I know what ingredients to order and don't blow anything up." Before she could comment he whirled around again and stalked out of the office. Sighing, she gathered the ingredients she needed, straightened the notes she'd made that afternoon, and set to work. 

It was a pleasure to brew a potion again, almost as great as it was to do magic after all that time. She stirred, measured and carefully watched every change to the potion as she added the new ingredients. Several hours later she was quite happy with the result. 

-0-

Saturday morning Professor McGonagall took her to Diagon Alley. Her Professor helped her make several changes to her hair, face and eye color to where Hermione didn't recognize herself in the mirror. Only Ollivander needed to know, but Professor Dumbledore had contacted him and trusted him not to give anything away. 

They did not tell him anything about the Dementors, but he was puzzled as he had her test the first wand. "You've changed," he stated. 

There was no denying that, but she was reluctant to give any details. She just nodded and tried another wand, but while she could work with any of them, none gave the tell-tale sparks that told them it was the right wand for her. Finally, the wand maker frowned and climbed a ladder, pulling out a dusty box from the very top shelf. 

He muttered as he handed the wand to her, and before she even waved it she knew it felt right. Indeed, when she gave it a wave the sparks shot from the tip in a bright arch. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"Oak, ten inches, with a core of a Veela hair," Mr Ollivander said. "I never use it, too temperamental, but my grandfather once traded a hair with a wizard from the continent. It never worked for anyone while my grandfather still ran the store, but I believe you can handle it."

"It feels wonderful," Hermione said as she held her wand.

Ollivander nodded. "Yes, it does work for you. Some day you must tell me what happened to you in there."

He didn't name Azkaban and he suddenly felt uneasy as he had brought it up. But Hermione smiled, reassuring him. "I will, when it's safe," she promised.

They didn't stay in Diagon Alley any longer, although Hermione would have loved to look in the Flourish and Blotts and browse the books. But it was too risky to be gone from the castle for too long, or to be seen by anyone who might accidentally counter the transformation spells. Besides, Professor McGonagall had promised to help her with her first Animagus transformation once they returned.

Apparating back, she Floo'd to Professor McGonagall's office and together they went to the transfiguration classroom. The classroom was larger than her own quarters or the Professor's office and would stand up better to anything she might do in her animal form, in case she did lose control.

Professor McGonagall started with running her through a few of the exercises she'd send her. Those were all very simple for her, and Hermione performed them without hesitation. The kind of control the Dementors had was similar to the control that was required for transforming. Then it was time to try.

Hermione frowned. "The one thing I couldn't find anywhere is how to select what animal I want to be," she said when Professor McGonagall was satisfied she was ready.

The question startled her Professor. "You don't. You become whatever animal you become, I've never heard of anyone who chose."

That was a problem. What if she were a cat, or a horse, or any land-bound animal? That would help her get around without being spotted, but it wouldn't help her get where she needed to go most. So no one had chosen their animal. Well, no one had her conscious control, either. She knew exactly what she wanted to be. Focusing on the transformation and on the animal she desired, she closed her eyes and transformed. 

Suddenly, she felt herself change and a moment later she was a small gray gull. She'd done it! And she still had her wits about her. She felt a little odd, with an urge in the back of her mind to fly away, to catch a fish or to ride on the wind, but it was not so strong she worried about it. She flapped her wings experimentally, flew to the other side of the classroom, and transformed back.

The astonishment of Professor McGonagall was almost palpable. "I've never seen anything like that before," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. But she had to agree the transformation went smoothly and it would be safe for Hermione to transform on her own.

Hermione longed to fly and she did, some, later that afternoon. She was quickly out of breath. It didn't matter she'd never flown before, magic compensated for that, but she was still out of shape in any form she held. She spent the next two weeks practicing frequently, flying whenever she could to build up her stamina.

Finally, most of the students left on the Hogwarts express, returning home for the Christmas holidays, only a few staying behind. The Dementors arrived early the next morning, while Professor Flitwick made sure the handful of students who were still at Hogwarts were all in the Great Hall, eating breakfast. 

Hermione could feel them –or him, anyhow- as they came closer, so she was at the gate when they arrived. She hugged him, then kissed, until she felt the alarm behind her. She turned quickly to Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. 

"I'm fine, don't worry," she said. "This is.." she sent his image, then introduced the others as well. His sister had come, and one of the others who often dealt with the Aurors. The elder had declined. 

The Professors greeted the Dementors politely, although Hermione could feel their uneasiness, especially in Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. At least Professor Snape did not deny he had been concerned, this time around.

Professor McGonagall led the way in and showed them their quarters, well away from the student dormitories but roomy and sufficiently cool in this time of the year. 

She sent her success at the transforming and the news she had a potion she hoped would work as they walked the halls of Hogwarts. 

His relief was immediate. He, too, had been worried her plan to come and go as she wished might not work. There were far more animals that couldn't make the trip to and from the island than that could. 

When they were shown their quarters, the Professors left them alone. They'd meet with the Headmaster again that afternoon. They took the time to test the potion, and while the full effects would take a few hours, it seemed to work. After that, they met at the appointed time and spoke at length with the Headmaster. 

Professor Dumbledore was the only one who could meet with them without feeling afraid. His concerns were for the reaction of the rest of society, and not without reason. The staff was uneasy, even though they tried hard to keep their fears in check. Professor Snape acted his usual self, barely polite only because of the Headmaster, but he was uneasy and irritable, as he had been when she was around. He seemed to be more concerned about others than about himself, his fears flared when the Dementors came close to rest of the staff. And all were concerned about the students.

It wasn't that they didn't believe Hermione and her partner were sincere, but there were still plenty of uncertainties. What if there would be confrontations with those who were less inclined to work with the humans? What if someone would panic and cast a Patronus, and make the Dementors feel threatened in turn? It was far from easy.

They met with others, apart from the Hogwarts staff. Tonks, the Weasleys, Remus Lupin, Moody. 

The meetings were mostly in the afternoon and evening, and the mornings were their own. While there were some students at the school and they had to stay out of sight, they managed to go out and into the mountains several times. The weather was wonderful, just below freezing and with a nice snow cover on the ground. Sometimes it was just the two of them, a few times the others came along.

The Dementors discussed the proceedings and the people, although they could of course converse among themselves all they wished without being overheard, even at Hogwarts. 

'Professor Snape is like that to everyone. But he's a good Potions Master and he can be trusted,' Hermione told them, in defense of the Potions Master. Professor Snape acted as rude and derogatory as ever, or perhaps more so, irritated by the invasion of his emotions.

The Dementor concurred, he'd seen a lot of Professor Snape's behavior to others in her thoughts and memories. 

'I think he's interesting,' his sister sent. 

Hermione showed her surprise.

'Almost all humans act nicer than they are. They try to be polite while they're really uncomfortable, or worse. He doesn't, he's just the opposite.'

Dementors rarely pretended to be different than they felt. While they, too, considered it polite not to shout out every opinion they might hold, they were rarely insincere. Children couldn't block their emotions so pretending to feel anything different was futile, and while older Dementors could pretend if they wanted to, on the whole they were lousy liars and didn't often try. Of course humans were completely transparent to them.

Hermione smiled as she imagined what Professor Snape would think if he ever heard of this. She felt little fear from him anymore, yet he hated the Dementors reading his thoughts as much as ever. For this very reason, no doubt.

They celebrated Christmas the human way. They couldn't go down to the Great Hall on account of the students, but her parents came to Hogwarts again and they had dinner in her guest room. Being Muggles, they shouldn't have been able to see the Dementors, but to everyone's astonishment they could see her partner, even if they said he looked indistinct and fuzzy. It was a concern to remember, for he wouldn't be able to move around other Muggles undetected, but Hermione was extremely glad her parents could see him. They were a little uneasy around him, as they were of course not used to any non-humans, but not near as bad as the wizards.

New Year's came and all too soon the students would return. They had made a lot of progress but Professor Dumbledore could not yet offer the Dementors a working alternative. They'd need more time to convince more people, and also to solidify their own position. As long as Fudge was Minister of Magic, any open friendship with the Dementors would certainly be used against the Headmaster and Hogwarts. For the time being, the Dementors returned to Azkaban. And thus, Hermione returned with them.

When she transformed, her clothing and any items she had directly on her transformed as well, just like Professor McGonagall's glasses remained with her. Hermione's wand showed as a single brown feather on her chest, where she carried it in her waistband when she were in her human form, and her clothing didn't seem to influence her coat of feathers at all. So carrying her wand and one set of clothing was no problem. 

The rest was a little harder, but with Tonks' help she confirmed the wards of Azkaban didn't detect magic being used inside the prison. Wizards couldn't take their wand into the prison, there were wards all around, and the Aurors went through some lengths to scan any of those who were to be imprisoned or entered for any reason. When no one could take a wand inside, there was no need for a specific detector ward, they must have thought. 

She packed a trunk with clothing, food, books and other necessities, using shrinking spells to make it all fit, then a featherweight spell so she could carry it, and finally transfigured the entire thing into a fish. It wasn't easy to transfigure anything that already was under two different spells, but with some pointers from Professor McGonagall she managed. She Apparated to the coast, transformed, and holding the fish in her beak she flew out toward Azkaban.

As she'd learned during her training flights, the real gulls paid her little attention. Somehow they knew something was strange about her, and they kept their distance, even when she carried a fish. The Aurors had no reason whatsoever to notice one bird among hundreds, so she landed on the island without incident.

The Dementor let her in and she transformed, then spat out the fish with a grimace. The Dementor laughed and she glared at him, then laughed too as she picked up the fish and carried it down to their quarters, in her hand this time.

It was easier to undo the spells than it had been to cast them. Hermione set to work and soon their small, bare quarters were unrecognizable. They were clean for the first time –years without adequate cleaning supplies had left a layer of grime on everything, but a few cleaning spells took care of that. She transfigured a few old pieces of furniture and fixed a crack in the table with Reparo.

When she was done there was a small book shelf, another shelf full of food, a cauldron with a small but well-stocked case of ingredients, real bed linens, a stack of clothing and towels that weren't threadbare, a writing desk, and a few pictures of her parents and Crookshanks. She looked around, quite satisfied with her redecorating skills. 

From then on her stay at Azkaban was far more comfortable. Her only regret was that they were still cooped up in here. She could come and go as she wished, and she frequently flew out for exercise, supplies, and to visit Hogwarts and her parents. But the Dementor couldn't leave so often without raising suspicion. It was a wonderful winter, cold and with frequent snows, and she wished they could simply go outside, even if it were only on the island itself.

She brewed a large supply of the skin care potion for the Dementors. The first batch had been a success, and soon the Dementors were rid of their sores and scabs. She also started to teach some of them how to brew the potion themselves. There was no reason why they couldn't learn Potions, there was no 'foolish wand waving' needed at all. Their lack of sight was a handicap but it wasn't absolutely vital to see, either. They were all used to doing without sight, and compensated by using their other senses and conscientiously keeping all ingredients in their own place.

Using her wand, she was also able to improve the general conditions in the prison somewhat. She cleaned the shower stalls and treated the worst cases of vermin and sometimes treated a sick inmate without having to wait for the weekly supplies.

She didn't try to tackle it all, like she would've done, once. Perhaps she had hardened too, and it would be too dangerous if the Aurors would notice something amiss. She chose not to risk everything to help the prisoners more than she could do safely.


	8. Familiar faces

**8. Familiar faces.**

The Aurors never came to the Dementors' level, so she never had to hide their new acquisitions, and she could easily stay downstairs when the Aurors brought a new prisoner in. But doing so reminded her too much of the time when she'd still been a prisoner. She preferred to transform and fly out, visiting the mainland or circling far overhead until the Aurors were well and gone.

This time, in the second week of February, she'd flown to the shore, disguised herself by changing her hair to a short, dark and curly cut that made her look boyish, and Apparated to Glasgow for some fresh bread and vegetables. Her groceries transfigured into a fish again –if it weren't so much, it was a simple spell- she transformed, picked up the fish and flew towards the island.

As she came closer she was always glad to feel the Dementor. She'd gotten used to his absence in her mind on her short trips, but it still felt empty. He waited for her as she landed, dropped the fish on the floor, and transformed –in that order, now.

'The new one is someone you know,' he told her when she was back in her human form. 'His image is Charlie Weasley.'

'Charlie?' she asked, startled.

'He's convicted for treason, harboring fugitives and kidnapping,' the Dementor sent.

'Damn, so Fudge has started to pick people up,' Hermione cursed. 'How did he get a hold of Charlie? I thought Charlie was in Egypt.'

'I didn't look that deep. He knows about you but he's still quite scared.'

Hermione nodded. 'Thank you. I'll go see him.'

She transfigured the fish back into the Tesco bag with groceries and they went to Charlie's cell.

She could feel his fear as she unlocked the door. 'Don't worry, it's me, Hermione,' she sent immediately, before she even stepped inside. Charlie looked up, startled.

"Hermione! I thought you were free?!"

"I am," she said. "No one knows I'm here." She'd let her friends in exile know she was out and doing well, but no one but the Hogwarts staff, the Order, and her parents knew of her current living arrangements, or her Animagus form.

Charlie frowned, confused.

"You've met," –she sent his image. "He and I are a couple, we live here until we can have a place to live outside."

Shock, but also relief at not being alone. Charlie glanced uncertainly at the Dementor, who'd remained well behind her. Then he spotted her Tesco bag and latched onto the one thing that looked familiar. "You can go shopping?"

"I'm an Animagus now. I can get you anything you need, but more about that later. How did Fudge get you?"

Charlie grimaced. "The dragon sanctuary owled me, they had an injured Chinese Zenger, been in a fight. They were having trouble treating her. Dragons don't really bond to people, but I'd hatched and raised her and they thought I might be able to help."

"Did it work?" Hermione asked.

Charlie nodded, she could feel his satisfaction in spite of his fear. "Yes, she'll be fine." Then his face fell. "When I wanted to return to Egypt the Romanian Aurors showed up. They read a long list of charges Fudge brought against me. I knew some of it, of course, that's why we left Romania. But I still hadn't expected them to pick me up when I came alone and wasn't doing anything but work at the sanctuary. It'd seemed like it was just the steadily growing group the Romanians objected to."

He felt bitter as he spoke. "They added the most ridiculous charges, too. Fudge had been owling Harry, trying to persuade him to return to England. Harry refused, of course, and now Fudge claims we –my brothers and I- are keeping Harry against his will. The charges against me included coercion and kidnapping. I couldn't believe it when I heard that!"

Hermione shook her head in disgust.

"That was the day before yesterday," Charlie continued. "Fudge's Aurors picked me up and Fudge himself read the charges again, then broke my wand without even allowing me to speak."

Hermione's anger flared as she remembered her own trial, and how that had felt. "I'm sorry," she said.

Charlie sighed and shuddered. "I can't say how glad I am to see you here. What about the Dementors? The others," he added quickly.

"They will feed on you, but it doesn't have to hurt. Offer them to let them take the thoughts you send to the surface, the thoughts you think of actively. Not everyone's the same, some are more likely to be rough at first, but most will agree to take what you offer and be careful. Try not to be afraid."

Charlie tried to nod, but he bit his lip as he looked past her at the Dementor. Others had joined them, too. "Hermione, I am scared," he admitted.

"I know, I can feel it, and they can too. But they'll also know if your effort is sincere, that will have to do. I was afraid when I came here, and I didn't have anyone to speak for me."

He still looked anxious, his freckled face pale, but she could also feel determination come through. She reached out and patted his arm in reassurance. "It'll be fine."

"So what do I do?" he asked hesitantly.

"Think of something pleasant, anything. You won't lose the memory, not really. That only happens when it's taken too roughly and too often, or when it's something that just happened and hasn't been stored in your long-term memory yet," Hermione explained.

Charlie nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. He stared as he searched his memory. There were several Dementors in the cell now, but fortunately Hermione knew all would be careful. Charlie started as the first thought was taken, but his feeling of fear abated as the Dementors went slow and made sure they did not hurt him.

Hermione stepped outside with her partner.

'He'll have to stay here for now,' she sent with a mental sigh, knowing not everyone would accept Charlie down in the Dementor's quarters, and he had no way to block those who wanted to harm him. 'Could he walk around up here?'

The Dementor hesitated. 'Better wait. You can take him to the showers and show him around, but it's better if he weren't caught out by himself, not right away.'

Hermione agreed. Then she looked down at her bag of groceries. 'I'll have to go out again, bring some more food, clothing, and tell his parents he's okay.'

'I'll call off the others, no need to overdo it, new as he is,' the Dementor said. 'See what he needs.' He didn't have to ask if she could handle another trip to the mainland, she was in much better shape now and the weather was fine, clear with little wind.

As the other Dementors left, she returned to Charlie. He was a little pale but otherwise alright. "They do that to you all the time?" he asked.

"You get used to it. And it's not all bad, I've remembered a lot of things I thought I'd long forgotten while trying to think of thoughts for them to feed on."

For the first time, Charlie grinned. "There must be a lot of things I haven't thought of in years, some of the pranks I pulled at Hogwarts when Bill and I were both there."

Hermione grinned back. "I wish I could look at those memories. You'll have to tell me when you find a good one."

He frowned at her. "Is it true you can read people's thoughts?"

"Just their feelings, emotions. I'm empathic but I don't think I can ever learn anything more. We differ too much from them physically. I can send, though, so that others can read it, even to humans or house-elves. That's what I did when I spoke to you through the door. The Dementors are full telepaths, most of the time they speak by sending directly to the person they're addressing."

"Should I learn that too?" Charlie asked.

"It can't be learned just by practicing, it's a sharing of abilities the Dementors used with me. They teach their own children that way. But you don't need to speak aloud to any of them, and you can learn to keep your thoughts at a deeper level, only thinking those things you want to say in the forefront of your mind."

"I'm not sure how to do that, but I'll try," Charlie said.

"It isn't something you learn overnight, but it will help if you make the effort," Hermione replied. She looked around the bare cell. "I wish you could walk around as you like, but not everyone will accept that, not yet. I'll show you around and take you to the showers every day, hopefully when they all know you you can go around by yourself or even come down to where we live, on the lower level. Not that it's much bigger than here, but it's cleaner and more quiet. For now, I'll get you some extra blankets, warmer clothes and other basic needs. I don't know if I can find a wand that'll work but I will try that, too. Is there anything special you would like to have?"

Charlie pondered for a moment. "A few Quidditch magazines would be nice. I doubt there's a lot to do here."

Hermione nodded. "You got it."

She left his cell, dropped the groceries off downstairs and made sure she had enough Muggle cash for another visit to the grocery store. Then she transformed and flew out across the sea. She didn't have to fly the entire distance, but just in case the Weasleys had visitors she Apparated to a spot a little distance from the Burrow, then transformed again and flew in.

As soon as she landed on the window sill, she knew the Weasleys had not learned what had happened to Charlie yet. She felt only pleasant surprise from Mrs Weasley as she opened the window to let her in. Anger flared up again as she realized Fudge, nor any of the Aurors involved in Charlie's imprisonment, had cared to inform them.

"Is Mr Weasley home?" she asked as soon as she transformed.

Mrs Weasley started at her brusque manner, but she nodded. "Arthur!" she called, then turned back to Hermione. "This isn't a social call."

"No," Hermione admitted.

Mr Weasley came in. "Hermione!" he said, sounding pleased, then caught on to their mood. "What's wrong?"

"Charlie was brought to Azkaban this morning," she said without preamble. "He was picked up in Romania at the Dragon sanctuary."

"What?!" Mr Weasley exclaimed. Shock and anger came off him.

Mrs Weasley felt mostly worried. "The Dementors?"

"He'll be fine. He's scared but most will be careful. He'll manage." She didn't sugarcoat it and pretend it'd all be easy, or that all of the Dementors would be friendly from the start, preferring to be honest. But Mrs Weasley trusted her assessment.

"Thank Merlin –now what happened, and why weren't we told?"

Hermione told them everything she knew, but of course she did not have the answer to that last question either. When she was done, Mr Weasley veered up.

"I'm going to see Fudge right now and demand an explanation. This is an outrage!"

Mrs Weasley held up her hand. "Arthur, wait. Don't do anything rash. We should talk to Albus first, or we'll all be in there." Her voice was calm steel, but Hermione felt more anger from her than from her husband.

Mr Weasley sat back down. "Either way, this has gone too far."

Hermione agreed. She had used the Killing Curse, even if it had been in self-defense, but Charlie had done nothing. The charges against him were all bogus.

"It's time we confront Fudge, but we should get Albus to help us," Mrs Weasley said.

"We'll Apparate to Hogwarts right away," Mr Weasley said, getting up again.

Mrs Weasley stood as well, but turned to Hermione first. "Can you take anything to Charlie?"

Hermione nodded. "I can take care of the food, but do you still have any of his clothes? It's pretty cold in there."

Mrs Weasley started to pack, first collecting much more than Hermione could transfigure and carry, but soon she had a small bundle of some thick sweaters, pants, socks, underwear and some toiletries. She added some food, too, home cooked and baked.

Hermione remembered the Quidditch magazines. The Weasleys didn't have an extra wand but they'd ask the Headmaster for one of the spares, she could pick it up later. She did the usual fish trick, and Apparated back to the shore.

-0-

Of course everything took much more time than they'd thought that afternoon. Everyone was well aware that once Fudge's position was threatened, Voldemort would make his move. They'd known that for years, and basic preparations were in place, but opinions on the details varied wildly. Some wanted Professor Dumbledore to take the position as Minister of Magic, hoping Voldemort would be less eager to attack then, others thought that would only escalate matters. Professor Dumbledore himself did not want to usurp the position, and feared an election would take too long, giving Voldemort the window of opportunity he needed to come out into the open and attack.

The arguments broke out into the open and Hermione expected to see more of her friends or others who spoke out against Fudge any day now. That didn't happen –perhaps Fudge was still afraid to go that far in Britain. Fudge did get through to the school board, which announced Professor Snape would not be allowed to return to Hogwarts next term, while Professor Dumbledore was told to stop his political activities or he, too, would be replaced after the summer.

Charlie managed to get settled in. The Dementors were reluctant to share their teaching with him, and Hermione didn't think that was such a bad thing. They couldn't teach everyone, and if they were to live among humans they'd have to learn to get along with those who couldn't send or block.

Hermione showed him around the upper levels, taught him the basics of the Dementors' language and their images, and after a couple weeks he ventured out to the showers and the kitchen without her. She even took him downstairs to their rooms a few times, but she advised him not to go down there by himself.

She also brought him a wand, courtesy of Professor Dumbledore, and through his parents kept him supplied of fresh reading material, the latest Quidditch and Dragon magazines.

In May, elections were postponed again. The threats to Professor Dumbledore and his staff were getting uglier and it was only a matter of time until something would happen. Still no one made any definite move. And as so often when no one makes a decision, a decision was made for them.

After Charlie, Hermione didn't go too far out when a new prisoner was brought to Azkaban. She circled overhead as she watched the Aurors' boat approach, and that late May afternoon she recognized the man who disembarked. Not one of her friends, by all means, but a Death Eater. Mcnair.

So it was a bit of a surprise to her when the Dementor called her in almost immediately after the Aurors left the island. She waited for them to get out of sight, then landed and transformed.

'Voldemort will attack soon,' the Dementor sent. He showed her the exchange as it had taken place.

Mcnair, acting afraid as he was brought in but in fact arrogant and smug, and filled with disdain for Aurors and Dementors alike. He dropped all pretenses as soon as the Aurors were gone.

"Don't feed on me. The Dark Lord sent me to let you know to prepare for his arrival. He will take Azkaban two days from now. You will stand with him and you'll be rewarded with all the food and souls you crave." He brought it as a wonderful offer, but underneath he was disgusted at the Dementors and regretted Voldemort's decision to take them on again.

The Dementor had replied with a mental snort. 'And if we won't?' he'd inquired.

Shock, confusion. "What? You served him well last time."

'That was then and this is now.'

Mcnair obviously hadn't counted on this. "He will give you all the souls you want," he'd tried again. He still felt confused, but the thought that this confirmed his opinion they shouldn't deal with these horrible creatures at all was unmistakably clear.

The Dementor didn't let on he could read the Death Eater's mind. 'You said that. I won't, but I'll relay your offer to the others. No doubt some of them will agree,' he'd sent. Then he'd closed the cell door on the protesting man, still catching his thoughts, which consisted of puzzlement at why the Dementor reacted like this, but mostly of disgust at having to deal with these obstinate and untrustworthy creatures, and what he'd like to do if he had any say in it.

"It had to happen sooner or later," Hermione sighed. "But it's still a problem." The Dementors couldn't defend the island against an attack without substantial aid. They made great guards, could keep prisoners from escaping or overwhelm individuals, but if Voldemort and his Death Eaters would cast multiple Patroni, they could do little. Nor would it be enough if she and Charlie would counter the spells. And of course the Dementors were hardly eager to risk their own skin for the Aurors and the Ministry.

'The good thing is that with his attitude, there won't be many who will still choose to join Voldemort,' the Dementor sent.

Hermione agreed. Yet they still needed an alternative. The regions abroad where some of the Dementors lived had so few people there was barely enough for those who were already there.

'I'll go see Professor Dumbledore. He'll have to give us a definite place to go,' Hermione decided.

The Dementor sent her an image of good luck; she transformed again and took off.

-0-

She showed the exchange between the Dementor and Mcnair to the Headmaster.

"If they know they're coming, the Aurors could hold the Death Eaters off," Professor Dumbledore said. "It's quite a stronghold, much easier to defend than to take. I'd rather not see Voldemort hold it; it'll be almost impossible to get him out again. We should make one last attempt to make Fudge see reason."

Hermione snorted at the chances of success, but she agreed with the rest of his argument. "I will come along. If it doesn't work, the truth about the Dementors will be out in two days, anyhow."

Professor Dumbledore hesitated, then agreed. He called his senior staff and explained briefly what was about to happen, then he, Professor McGonagall and Hermione Apparated to London and requested to see the Minister.

Fudge was shocked to see her. He wouldn't have been able to hide his initial shock even if she hadn't been able to read his feelings. She wished she could read his mind exactly, but it was clear that he wasn't pleased at all.

The Headmaster took the lead, telling Fudge of the imminent attack.

"And you know this how?" Fudge asked.

"Miss Granger here has contact with some of the Dementors," the Headmaster said. They still wouldn't tell him about her Animagus form or about her full abilities.

"She does, eh?" he said, sounding skeptical, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. "I am happy to see you recovered so quickly from your stay in Azkaban. However, I must question this, you can't possibly still hear from the Dementors."

Hermione didn't let on she knew he was all but happy to see her in good health. "I assure you the threat to Azkaban is real."

"I've had it with your wild imagination. First You-Know-Who has returned, but I don't see anything but Death Eaters. And now you'd have me believe that You-Know-Who will attack the most heavily guarded place in the country. Azkaban isn't easy to take," the Minister stated irritably.

"It is when there are only a few Aurors watching the wards," Professor Dumbledore pointed out.

"There are the Dementors," Fudge said.

"You trust the Dementors to guard the prison against Voldemort?" Professor McGonagall asked.

Fudge flinched as she used the name, but recovered quickly. "They will guard Azkaban against a bunch of Death Eaters. They no longer hesitate to feed on any Death Eaters or give them their Dementor's Kiss, I don't believe they will suddenly decide to follow them."

"They can't defend against a large-scale attack with no Aurors to back them up," Professor Dumbledore pointed out. "And if Voldemort holds Azkaban he will be difficult to dislodge."

"You truly believe this attack will happen," Fudge asked, denial so strong he himself truly believed what he was saying.

"My sources are trustworthy," Professor Dumbledore said.

"An ex Death Eater, a werewolf, and a young woman whose state of mind is unfortunately still rather questionable. Of course," Fudge said sarcastically.

Hermione gave up. "Sir, you are a lousy liar, as well as a fool. I'll refrain from saying what you truly think about me, but the information we have is correct, and the Dementors will not fight for you."

"That is quite enough. I will excuse you this time as you are obviously not quite recovered yet, but next time you may find yourself back in Azkaban for such insults," Fudge snapped.

"Suit yourself," the Headmaster said, giving up as well. They left the building and returned to Hogwarts.

"We'll need some place to go," Hermione said.

"How many will come?" the Headmaster wanted to know.

"Most of them," she replied. "About six hundred. There are a hundred or so who'll definitely leave the country, and I expect only a few dozen will remain and join Voldemort, especially after Mcnair's generous and sincere offer."

"It'll have to be the old manor," Professor Dumbledore decided. "There is no other alternative that will work."

The old manor was Professor Dumbledore's own residence, which he had hardly visited since he became Headmaster of Hogwarts but which he still kept up. It was more of a castle, had been in the family for centuries, and was located in an unplottable location in Wales. It was large enough, but letting the Dementors stay there would make it abundantly clear he was responsible for their presence. It might well mean Professor Dumbledore would lose his position at Hogwarts, not only because of Fudge but also because of the reactions of a good lot of the parents.

"I will take care of the boat," Professor McGonagall said.

The Dementors could float over water but if they were to get Charlie out they'd need a boat. They'd pretend to ferry some luggage across so the Aurors wouldn't suspect. Hermione was sure the Aurors wouldn't check them all individually, not when they were all leaving. She would find a robe for him and he'd have to stay in the center of the crowd.

"The Portkeys to the manor will be ready tomorrow morning," Professor Dumbledore said. "I'll get the house-elves to clean the unused rooms and to air the place out."

Hermione nodded. She wasn't sure what to say. Thanks seemed too little for she knew what the consequences might be. She agreed to pick up the Portkeys early the next morning and returned to Azkaban.

She showed the Dementor her meeting with Fudge and the decision of the Headmaster, and he showed her how most everyone had responded to Mcnair's offer. Almost all who weren't completely certain yet of where they would go had visited the Death Eater, who no longer was so cocky and smug as he had been when he'd been brought in.

Together, they spread Dumbledore's offer among the others. It was received much better, naturally, than Mcnair's was, although some questions remained about who they would feed on. Fortunately, most trusted the Headmaster far enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Hermione set to packing. They had more stuff here than anyone else. She couldn't shrink and transfigure all their things and Charlie's into just one fish, but she'd take part of it in the morning when she would retrieve the Portkeys, and the rest when they would actually leave. Charlie helped her, although his borrowed wand did not work as well as his own had.

Hermione also tried to convince the house-elves to come along, fearing they'd be killed or maltreated by the Death Eaters, but they wouldn't hear of it. They were bound to the Ministry and couldn't or wouldn't leave the island. She suggested the Dementors gave them clothes, but that didn't count, the Dementors weren't their direct employers.

They spent the night in a room already bare as it had been six months ago. It reminded her of that time, when she'd still been a prisoner, and she was glad when it was morning and time to get up. She flew out to the shore, Apparated to Hogwarts, and returned with the Portkeys. The Headmaster had given her several long pieces of string, well suited for porting a large number of people. She coiled them and took them back to the island.

Azkaban was buzzing with activity. The Dementors had little to pack but, not knowing exactly what the feeding arrangements would be, they fed deeply on the prisoners. Hermione felt bad for those still sane enough to be actually aware of what happened, but she didn't protest. She'd long given up arguing about the fate of the prisoners. She didn't feel sorry for Mcnair, who was besieged especially by those who'd planned to join Voldemort until they saw the Death Eater's thoughts. They didn't kill him or gave him the Kiss, but they fed on him so he was laying in the corridor, curled up and moaning, and many still took whatever they could as they passed.

As Hermione had expected, only a few remained behind. Forty-three of the Dementors, who were least trusting of her and the Headmaster, would still rather take their chances with Voldemort, no matter what they'd found in Mcnair's mind. Well over a hundred were going to various locations abroad; the one who'd helped her by carrying her messages and bringing her clothing would join her family in Russia. Yet they all came to the mainland and would travel on to their destination from Professor Dumbledore's manor, so no single Dementor would be the last to leave and might be overtaken by the Aurors.

The Portkeys wouldn't work from underneath the anti-Apparition wards, but the Dementors could float across the water as easily as across land. The boat for Charlie's sake arrived at just the appointed time, guided by magic and hidden by a do not notice spell. Hermione knew it was nothing but a sea shell, transfigured by Professor McGonagall and enchanted by Professor Flitwick, but it was large enough to carry several Dementors, some boxes which they pretended were important, and Charlie. The Dementors boarded, the others floated around the boat, and Hermione transformed again and flew overhead.

As they came to the landing dock, the Aurors saw them and came running from the cottage. Hermione was truly impressed they faced the Dementors instead of running the other way, for she could feel their fear even from way up here. They had their wands out, but she wasn't really worried, there were only three Aurors and they couldn't possibly cast Patroni strong enough to hold against this many.

"What is the meaning of this, where are you going?" one demanded, which would've been more impressive if his voice hadn't been shaking so badly.

'We're leaving,' one of the Dementors replied.

"You can't leave, you agreed to guard the prisoners!"

'We did, but we didn't agree to defend the place for you while you ignore all warnings. We don't want to be here tomorrow,' another sent.

"You can't leave!" The Auror was close to panic now.

'We're not the prisoners. We agreed to guard the prisoners in exchange for a place to live where we'd have food and where we'd be left alone, but as we don't believe we'll have that here for much longer, we're going.'

"You can't! Wait, where will you go, you must listen to us! I demand you listen to us!"

'We _must_ nothing, and since we no longer serve you, we don't need to tell you where we go.'

Her partner hadn't joined in the exchange with the Aurors, but had immediately started to pass out the Portkey strings among those who had reached the shore. Hermione could pick him out easily, their special bond making him easy to recognize even while she circled high overhead and all wore their hoods. She could also pick out Charlie, staying well back from the Aurors in the mass of black, and was relieved when she saw he had a hold of one of the Portkeys. He'd be able to get away even if the Aurors were to spot him.

They didn't. The first Auror, who was the only one who spoke –the other two stood, opening and closing their mouths like a couple of fish, but no coherent sound came out- made a few more sounds of protest, but none of the Dementors listened to him.

When everyone had a hold of the Portkeys, they automatically activated. Hermione watched a few moments longer as the Aurors stood gaping at the empty spot where the hundreds of Dementors had been, then almost started for their own boat, hesitated, and ran into the cottage instead. Part of her wanted to know what they'd do, but she had to follow the Dementors and see they all settled in.

She landed well out of sight of the cottage, just in case the reinforcements the Aurors were sure to call would arrive outside, then transformed and Apparated to the manor.

The manor was large, a castle really. It had a large center court, where they had all gathered, a great, stone main building and several smaller outbuildings. The only downside, for the Dementors at least, was that it didn't have any dungeons, only a few old wine cellars. Fortunately even the upper rooms would be relatively cool due to the thick stone walls.

Professor Dumbledore greeted her as she landed. She was impressed, even here among this many Dementors she felt no fear from him at all. Charlie stood next to him, the hood of his robe thrown back. He would Floo to Egypt, to the others who were hiding out there, and they all hoped the Egyptians wouldn't try to pick him up. The Egyptians hadn't bothered any of the others, but now he was a fugitive, regardless of whether the charges he was convicted for were true. Her partner came over as well, holding the Portkey strings he had collected again.

'Thank you,' he sent as he handed the strings to the Headmaster.

"You took your own risks," the Headmaster said.

'Perhaps. But nothing like this,' the Dementor replied.

"No, perhaps not," the Headmaster admitted. "Do you need any help getting settled in? I've asked the house-elves to remain, they will help you if anything needs to be moved or cleaned."

'We'll be fine, thank you,' the Dementor replied. 'Can you show us the fireplace for those who want to travel on?'

The Headmaster led the way into the main hall of the castle, and used his wand to light a fire in the huge stone fireplace. "I made sure there is plenty of Floo powder, for those who want to leave and anyone who wants to go anywhere and return. I'm afraid you'll not receive a warm welcome in many places yet, but I do not intend to check or limit your freedom to come and go."

'Thank you,' the Dementor sent again, sincerely.

"You can reach me at Hogwarts," Professor Dumbledore said. "I will return with the other staff tomorrow for those who want to feed. I must return now to see to school business." He took his leave and Disapparated.

Hermione and her partner coordinated as everyone found a room. Many had to share, but the rooms were larger and far more luxurious than the lower level of Azkaban had been, and everyone was satisfied with the arrangements. Those who did not want to remain sent their goodbyes and left by Floo.

Charlie remained to help her set some extra wards, since he was the only other who could do such magic. Then he took the Floo out to Egypt, before the Aurors could learn where he was and come after him. Hermione kept expecting Aurors to show up, but none did. Perhaps they hadn't figured it out yet or they didn't dare breach the Headmaster's manor and confront the entire group of Dementors.

Hermione had un-shrunk and unpacked their own luggage. They had a small room but it was a room to themselves, as most couples had. The room was on the top floor in the east wing of the manor, and likely had been a servant's room once. But they had their privacy and there was a window, overlooking the extensive, if somewhat neglected, grounds.

When she was done unpacking and they'd made sure no one needed anything, Hermione suggested taking a walk outside. While it was quite warm for the time of the year, almost too warm to be comfortable any longer, it was still beautiful. They found a cool spot in the shade underneath some old trees, and sat down. Outside together for the first time since New Year's, Hermione allowed herself to feel free at last. Sure, she realized there were many difficulties yet ahead, more perhaps than they'd faced so far, but it was a start.

-0-

Nothing happened that night. The Dementors leaving Azkaban didn't make the Evening Prophet and apparently the Ministry hadn't tracked them down yet.

The next morning the Hogwarts staff arrived early, before classes. Mr and Mrs Weasley came as well, as did most of the others of the Order of the Phoenix. Only Professor Sprout had remained behind to watch the few students who might be up this early.

Hermione was surprised Professor Snape had not volunteered for that task, he was by far the most uncomfortable around the Dementors. Even now, he was scowling.

"I don't know what I can do here, I don't have any thoughts worth taking," he muttered.

It was her partner's sister who replied. She'd sought him out immediately. 'Everyone has pleasant memories, unless they're insane. You certainly aren't.'

He snorted. "All I enjoy is taking points from Gryffindor."

'I doubt that's all. Mind if I look?'

He shrugged. Hermione thought he felt insecure more than anything. "Fine."

The Dementor didn't speak, or if she did she sent to him directly, but she felt pleased at what she found. Professor Snape seemed startled and glanced at her. Hermione quickly looked away, feeling like she had been eavesdropping.

The Dementors all fed briefly, not needing much after the generous feeding of the previous day, and considerate of the staff for whom it was a first. Then, after Professor Dumbledore had established all were fine, they returned to Hogwarts and their own residences.

That same morning, Voldemort attacked and took Azkaban. This, finally, was so big Fudge could not deny it and keep it out of the papers, although the extra edition of the Morning Prophet still spoke only of Death Eaters. There had been a few more Aurors than the usual three who stayed at the outpost, but no force big enough to hold off the Death Eaters or even put up much of a fight. Details were sketchy, but it seemed several Aurors had been killed and Death Eaters had taken over the island at dawn. There was also mention that most of the Dementors seemed to have disappeared, but nothing about where they had gone.

It wasn't until the afternoon that an owl arrived for Hermione. It carried a bright yellow letter, indicating it was priority mail. Hermione opened it, and was not surprised it turned out to be from Fudge.

The Minister demanded to know where the Dementors were. It was tempting not to reply at all, but eventually she decided to sent a brief reply, telling Fudge the Dementors would not attack anyone and wanted to be left alone.

In return, he wrote a rather more polite note apologizing for his earlier tone and asking she come see him. Finally she agreed to speak to him by Floo. He called her and as she stood before the fireplace she could tell how distraught he was even though the hearth.

"You must tell me where the Dementors are," he said, sounding desperate.

"Why? You don't hold Azkaban anymore, you don't have need of their services. They're free people."

"They could do anything!" Fudge exclaimed. "Attack Hogsmeade, the Muggles, London… you must know they're dangerous!"

"They won't attack anywhere, they know you'll hunt them down if they do."

"But you know where they are."

"Most of them."

"_Most?_" Fudge squeaked.

"Some remained to join Voldemort, others went to various locations abroad to join their family. I don't know where every single one is."

"You know where most of them are."

"Most are here."

"There?! Dumbledore really has gone too far this time!"

"Would you rather have them all join Voldemort or spread out all over the country?" Hermione inquired sweetly.

Fudge remained silent for just a moment. "No, of course not. But…"

"Very well then."

"Fine!" Fudge called, giving up. "I will tell Dumbledore to keep his Dementors there."

"They aren't Dumbledore's Dementors, or mine. They're their own. But they'll likely remain here as long as they're left alone."

Or most would, she thought. She knew she planned to take her partner along when she visited friends or when she had to go to Hogsmeade. If they wanted to integrate in society, they'd have to get around and let people get used to them, and her partner was a good ambassador. It wasn't a task he'd have chosen, but neither would she have chosen hers. They'd been cast in their roles by chance but they did the best to make it work.

A/N: The end, for now… there may be more chapters one day but for now they're out and that'll have to do J Hope you all have enjoyed this different look at the Dementors, thank you for all your reviews!


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